A  VOICE 
FROM  THE  SILENCE 


diaries  Philip.Neftleton 


I; 


A  VOICE 
FROM  THE  SILENCE 

CHARLES  PHILIP  NETTLETON 

EDITED  BY 

INA  COOLBRITH 

BIOGRAPHICAL  SKETCH  AND  POEM 
BY 

ISABEL  DARLING 

APPRECIATION 
BY 

REV.  HAMILTON  LEE 


I   WNIVERS/TY   ) 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

Si.  $$• 

J  904 


Copyright 

Alice  L.  Frickstad 
1904 


PRINTED  BY  THE  STANLEY-TAYLOR  COMrANY.  S.  F. 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


CHARLES  PHILIP  NETTLETON. 

So  the  child  was  named  when  he  appeared  in  his  first 
home  at  New  Haven,  Conn.,  as  the  only  son  of  George  W. 
and  Charlotte  L.  Nettleton.  Lack  of  physical  strength  made 
him  the  object  of  continual  solicitude  and  prevented  the  long 
school  course,  as  well  as  a  vigorous  participation  in  the  usual 
youthful  sports  and  adventures,  so  his  childhood  was  even 
less  eventful  than  that  of  the  ordinary  New  England  boy. 

Instead  of  an  actor  he  was  a  reader  and  a  dreamer,  sen- 
sitively shrinking  into  silence  at  a  touch  of  ridicule  or  harsh 
criticism,  longing  desperately,  at  times,  for  a  place  among 
the  world's  recognized  workers  yet  without  the  boldness,  the 
endurance,  the  push  and  trample  needed  to  win  and  keep 
what  he  prayed  for  and  seemingly  deserved.  His  hardest 
battles,  like  those  of  Bunyan's  Pilgrim,  were  mental  and 
spiritual,  fought  in  silence  and  solitude,  and  their  results 
offered  to  the  world  with  diffidence  because  of  his  reverence 
for  the  works  and  uttered  thoughts  of  that  world's  greater 
minds. 

No  one  knows  when  he  began  to  write.  The  first  pub- 
lished effort  which  has  been  traced  was  not  original,  but 
shows  the  effect  of  much  reading.  It  consists  of  one-line  ex- 
tracts from  many  authors,  arranged  in  verse,  and  was  found 
in  a  New  York  paper. 

Soon  after,  while  he  was  still  but  a  boy,  the  family  was 
suddenly  uprooted  and  removed  from  the  Atlantic  Coast  to 
the  Pacific,  to  a  new  and  more  arduous,  but  still  unsatisfy- 
ing, life.  In  the  intervals  of  out-door  work,  or  at  night,  he 
studied  by  himself,  grew  familiar  with  deep  thinkers,  even 
learning  the  language  of  the  Greeks,  and  wrote  poems  and 
short  stories,  essays  or  parables,  for  the  "Chautauquan,"  "Inde- 
pendent," "Modern  Culture,"  "Springfield  Republican," 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


''Overland  Monthly,"  "Philistine"  and  other  periodicals,  as  he 
could,  gradually  giving  up  one  hope  and  accepting  another, 
turning  from  literature  toward  the  ministry,  while  waiting 
for  his  opportunity. 

After  nearly  twenty  years  it  came,  and  he  entered  the 
San  Mateo  School  of  Divinity,  entered  with  the  eager  plunge 
of  one  who,  though  coming  late,  is  determined  to  deserve  the 
full  recompense  as  only  justice,  because  of  the  deferred  call, 
his  very  soul  crying  out,  "Oh,  the  little  time  there  is!"  Two 
short  years  of  this  and  then  the  shadow  overtook  him  and 
drew  him  away  before  the  Lord  of  the  Harvest  had  counted 
the  sheaves  and  given  him  his  portion  of  reward. 

We  who  might  have  helped  him  more  but  did  not,  may 
read  again  his  pure,  unselfish  words  and  offer  them  as  stimu- 
lus and  comfort  to  others  who  may  be  called  before  the  sun- 
set, before  the  reckoning  time.  Surely  his  work  has  not  been 
wasted,  surely  it  is  to  be  continued. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


CONTENTS. 

Biographical  Sketch 3 

Of  Our  Friend 11 

An  Appreciation 13 

The  One  Who  Knows 15 

Recall  the  Good  Alone 16 

"Nay,  Ask  Me  Not" 17 

When  Greece  Is  Named y.      .      .  18 

The  Search 19 

The  Vision  Beautiful 20 

The  Long  Vacation 21 

At  Night 21 

The  Two  Mysteries 22 

Glimpses 23 

What  Am  I,  Love? 24 

Quatrains  on  Authors 25 

Edwin  Arnold 27 

St.  Augustine 27 

Alfred  Austin         28 

William  Blake 33 

Sir  Thomas  Brown .     .30 

Robert  Browning .      .     .      .      .      .30 

Mrs.  Browning 30 

La  Bruyere 26 

Bryant          33 

Bobby  Burns          .      .     .      .-    .      .     ....      .      .  28 

Byron .      .36 

Carlyle 31 

Confucius 35 

Dante      . 28 

De  Quincey 36 

Emerson 25 

Epictetus 29 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Quatrains  on  Authors — 

Firdusi          27 

Goethe          35 

Goldsmith 33 

Hawthorne        31 

Heine 32 

Homer          35 

Leigh  Hunt 26 

Jean  Ingelow 32 

Author  of  Job 35 

Keats ".     .  36 

Lamb 34 

Lanier 26 

Longfellow 33 

Marcus  Aurelius 29 

Joaquin  Miller 29 

Milton 30 

Montaigne         28 

Moore 34 

William  Morris 27 

Omar   Khayyam 27 

Plato 25 

Poe          34 

Pope        26 

La  Rochefoucauld 26 

Christina  G.  Rosetti        34 

Rousseau           .           25 

Ruskin 31 

Saadi 25 

Sappho         36 

Shakespere        35 

Shelley 36 

Socrates 25 

Robert  L.  Stevenson 34 

Swinburne    .                                                 .....  32 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Quatrains  on  Authors — 

Tennyson 31 

Theocritus 29 

Thomas  a'Kempis 33 

Thoreau 30 

Paul  Verlaine 32 

Villon 32 

Walton         31 

Walt  Whitman 29 

Wordsworth 28 

The  Seashore  at  Night 37 

Her  Portrait 37 

California 38 

Dawn  in  the  San  Joaquin  Valley 38 

The  Play  in  the  Vestibule 39 

Opposition 42 

The   Old  Story 42 

The  Pilot 43 

Too  Late 44 

To  William  Watson,  Author  of  "The  Purple  East"     .      .  44 

The  Bookworm  vs.  Nature 45 

What  Seekest  Thou? 46 

The  Greater  Scale 47 

Before  the  Fire 47 

Easter 48 

Contentment 49 

Moderation 49 

Inscription  for  a  Statue  of  Anacreon  (Theocritus,  Frag- 
ment XVI.) 50 

Charity 50 

My  Age         50 

Maternity 50 

Love's    Prooflessness 51 

A  Valentine 52 

My  Celestial  Visitor 53 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  Poet 54 

The   Hermit 55 

The  Unpaid  Ransom 57 

July   Fourth 57 

Quatrains       .           58 

Beyond  the  Face 60 

The  Change 58 

Doubleness 59 

Doubt "...  60 

Inconsistency 58 

Little  Things 60 

On   the   Voyage 59 

The   Poet 59 

Poetry 59 

Silence 59 

The  Sacred  Reserve 59 

The  Travel  of  the  Soul 60 

Unselfishness 58 

When  Time  Has  Ceased 60 

Wisdom 58 

A  Vision    (Dedicated,   without   Permission,   to   Stephen 

Crane) 61 

Mother  Goose  Revised 61 

Couplets 61 

The  Two  Gospels 64 

The  Sight  of  a  Soul 65 

For  One  Sweet  Day 65 

His  Song .66 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THOUGHTS  AND  PASTELS. 

Thoughts 69 

Pastels 96 

Duty        96 

A   Saint 96 

In  the  Shadow 97 

The  Turning  of  the  Leaf 98 

The  Measure  of  the  Draught  of  Life 99 

In  the  Night         100 

The  Outcast .101 

Lost 102 

"If  You  Love  Me,  Lean  Hard" 103 

Seraphael  and  Seraphita 105 

The   Dance .     .  107 

The  House  of  Annihilation       .           108 

Through  Men 109 

The  Passing  of  a  Man's  Soul 110 

The  Unbuilt  Temple Ill 

The  Worshipers 112 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


OF  OUR  FRIEND. 

Gone!  And  then  Memory  came 

And  swiftly,  with  sad  surprise, 
Gathered  his  voice  and  his  name, 

His  step  and  the  flash  of  his  eyes, — 
Saying,  "All  these  were  of  him, 

But  not  for  unanswering  earth; 
Now,  while  your  eyes  are  yet  dim, 

Speak  each  unto  each  of  his  worth. 

'Question  his  words  yet  again, — 

For  they  are  not  friends  who  forget — 
Question  the  strokes  of  his  pen; 

Not  one  will  you  find  to  regret. 
Young,  was  he  not,  to  be  done 

With  all  that  it  means  but  to  live; 
Young,  all  the  good  to  have  won 

This  hurrying  world  had  to  give? 

"Life  is  'a  feast  or  a  fast?' 

His  life  was  a  longing,  a  light 
Shaded  for  fear  of  the  blast, 

Yet  shining  afar  in  the  night. 
Life  is  'a  song  or  a  moan?' 

His  life  was  an  anthem,  a  trill; 
He  was  a  wind-harp,  alone, 

Breathed  on  by  the  Infinite  Will. 

11 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


"So,  in  the  days  that  are  long, 

Though  tempted  to  listen  and  weep, 
Join  in  the  reverent  song, 
Not  dead,  nor  yet  hushed  into  sleep." 


Tenderly  Memory  turned 

And  locked  in  our  innermost  heart 
That  which  each  one  of  us  earned 

While  thus  he  was  walking  apart. 

—ISABEL  DARLING. 


12 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


AN  APPRECIATION. 

The  author  of  the  work  which  this  book  contains  was 
remarkable  both  for  the  character  of  his  life  and  for  the 
quality  of  his  thought.  His  mind  lies  open,  to  a  certain  ex- 
tent, in  the  pages  that  follow,  but  the  nobility  of  his  soul  and 
the  remarkable  fidelity  with  which  he  met  the  varied  duties 
which  called  forth  his  activity,  can  be  known  only  to  those 
who  were  familiar  with  the  man  himself  in  his  home  and  in 
his  intercourse  with  his  associates.  An  intimate  and  close 
acquaintance  of  more  than  fifteen  years  enables  the  writer 
of  these  lines  to  appreciate  the  nature  of  the  difficulties,  the 
struggles,  the  discouragements,  the  aspirations,  the  attain- 
ments, the  successes,  which  made  up  the  human  existence  of 
his  friend,  Charles  P.  Nettleton,  and  of  none,  as  it  seems  to 
him,  could  words  of  truer  praise  be  spoken  than  of  the  son, 
the  brother,  the  man  who  offered  up  all  that  he  had  and  was 
upon  the  altar  of  duty,  of  filial  affection  and  friendship. 

The  chief  desire  of  Mr.  Nettleton,  for  many  years,  had 
been  to  devote  himself  to  the  service  of  God  in  the  sacred 
ministry.  At  last  the  way  seemed  opened,  but  the  call  was 
to  a  higher  service,  and  to  those  who  knew  him  best,  as  they 
think  of  his  departure,  there  comes  a  remembrance  of  the 
words  of  the  Master,  which  seem  so  appropriate  for  such 
a  one:  "Well  done  good  and  faithful  servant;  thou  hast  been 
faithful  over  a  few  things,  I  will  sit  thee  over  many  things; 
enter  thou  into  the  joy  of  thy  Lord." 

— Rev.  Hamilton  Lee. 

Berkeley,  Cal.,  October,  1903. 


13 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


gofb  open  ity,  boot  of  i 
(Keac0  ouf  as  3  reac$  unto 

jganb  in  ^anb  fef  u0  ponber 
3n  f^  S^org  of  quest  for  f^e  true. 


14 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  ONE  WHO  KNOWS. 

The  day  is  dead,  and  now,  before 
Life's  tender  nurse,  the  night,  bestows 

On  me  her  transient  death,  once  more 
I  seek  the  One  who  all  things  knows. 

My  Father,  pardon  weakness,  sin! 

Out  of  the  pathway  still  I  go, 
And  when  at  night  I  look  within 

My  shame,  my  comfort  is,  You  know. 

You  know  my  every  need  and  dream, 
You  know  each  doubt,  delight  and  woe; 

The  passion  strong  and  vague  extreme 
Of  body,  mind  and  soul,  You  know. 

The  careless  word  that  hurt  a  friend, 
The  deed  of  shame  that  pleased  a  foe, 

The  secret  thoughts  none  apprehend- 
In  sorrowing  joy  I  feel  You  know. 

I  cannot  hate  the  thing  abhorred 

By  You  enough  to  leave  it;  no, 
Nor  even  pray  aright;  but,  Lord, 

The  heart  You  made,  that  heart  You  know. 

The  spotless  love  and  prudent  brain 
And  mighty  hand,  that  reach  down  low 

And  gather  golden  human  grain, 
I  lack;  the  bitterness  You  know. 

The  waves  of  pain  and  grief  swell  high; 

Doubt's  piercing  winds  forever  blow 
And  challenge  hope  itself,  but  I 

Will  conquer  with  the  thought,  You  know. 

15 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Pure  peace,  deep  joy,  the  swelling  heart 
Is  powerless  to  prove,  the  glow 

In  friendship's  eyes — how  dumb  the  art 
Of  gratitude  for  these!  You  know. 

The  miracle  of  human  breath 

I  gratefully  receive,  and  oh! 
The  mystery  of  human  death 

I  joy  in  knowing  that  You  know. 

Of  all  the  loving  souls  who  smile 
And  weep  and  bear  with  us  below, 

Who  knows  us  perfectly  the  while? 
O,  happy  are  we  that  You  know. 

My  faith  in  such  a  God  increase, 
And  prayer  be  wise  and  patience  grow! 

I  close  my  eyes  in  love  and  peace, 

Because  You  know,  because  You  know. 


RECALL  THE  GOOD  ALONE. 

Behold,  there  is  a  brighter  side  to  all 
The  memories  of  life!    Put  grief  away, 

Declare  a  truce  with  troubles  great  and  small, 
And  wisely  join  me  while  I  bravely  say, 

"Recall  the  good  and  let  the  evil  die." 

Thy  gold  is  now  a  thing  of  nought?    But  still 
Thy  soul  and  God  are  left!    And  is  it  nought 

That  once  the  Lord  of  Life  your  hands  did  fill 
With  many  pleasant  things,  in  deed  and  thought: 

Recall  the  good  and  let  the  evil  die. 

16 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  friend  you  thought  so  true  is  false?    But  still 
He  once  was  true!    The  dear  old  days  were  light 

With  friendship  pure,  and  on  her  holy  hill, 

Hand  clasped  in  hand,  you  clearer  saw  the  right. 

Recall  the  good  and  let  the  evil  die. 

The  one  loved  best  has  gone  before?    But  still 
Be  glad  for  her  sake,  now  at  rest  and  glad. 

Exalt  thy  happy  days,  and  let  them  thrill 
The  heart  allowed  to  think  of  joy  once  had. 

Recall  the  good  and  let  the  evil  die. 

Behold,  there  is  a  brighter  side  to  all 
The  memories  of  life!    Sit  calmly  down 

In  the  sun  of  memories  sweet,  where  still  may  fall 
Upon  thy  soul  the  touch  of  some  dear  crown. 

Recall  the  good  and  let  the  evil  die.    , 


"NAY,  ASK  ME  NOT." 

Nay,  ask  me  not,  sweet  love,  the  reasons  why. 

I  love  thee! 

Can  words  avail  these  words  to  amplify, 
"I  love  thee?" 

Why,  if  each  star  above  could  speak  today, 

(I  love  thee!) 
And  reasons  were  revealed  with  every  ray, 

(I  love  thee!) 

Love  still  would  be  a  miracle,  indeed, 

(I  love  thee!) 
Unfolded  now — or  never — in  the  creed 

"I  love  thee." 

17 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


O  look  within,  where  love  is  lord  and  king, 

(I  love  thee!) 
And  ask  no  more  for  causes  while  I  sing 

"I  love  thee!" 

Let  heartless  sages  analyze  that  vow 

"I  love  thee!" 

In  wiser  ways  1*11  tell  thee  why  and  how 
I  love  thee. 


WHEN  GREECE  IS  NAMED. 

How  richly  young  and  full  of  joyous  dreams 

Our  latter  day  of  heavy  life  appears 

When  Greece  is  named!    Snapped  is  the  strand  of  years, 
And  quick  the  pulse  of  spirit  bounds  and  seems 
At  one  with  natural  life  beside  fair  streams, 

With  gay  Theocritus,  with  Sappho's  tears, 

With  Homer,  Plato,  Poesy's  high  peers, 
Who  lived  for  beauty  and  her  sister  themes. 

As  on  a  road  I  know,  a  sudden  breeze 
Of  warmer  air  than  common,  at  one  place 
Sweeps  down  the  hill  with  sweeter,  balmier  breath, 

So  comes  the  thought  of  Greece;  lo,  jubilees 
Of  wildwood  beauty,  statured  strength  and  grace, 
Spontaneous  songs,  which  yet  rule  us  and  death! 


18 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  SEARCH. 

Lo !  even  as  one  may  dream  of  space, 
And  turn  at  night  his  face 

Unto  the  heavens  and  speed  his  strongest  thought 
Beyond,  beyond,  past  stars,  and  evermore  beyond 
Past  stars  and  systems,  till 
He  feels  a  solemn  chill 
Strike  down  his  finite  power  and  will, 
And  make  the  soul  despond 

In  that  vast  boundless,  awful  space  that  God  has  wrought, 
While  close  beside  him,  to  and  fro 
God's  waves  of  space  around  him  flow, 

So  man  looks  up  to  Him. 
He  dwells  beside  us,  ay,  and  in  us  evermore, 
But  we  forget  Him  often,  choosing  to  explore 
All  space  until  we  touch  the  rim 
And  find,  perchance,  His  Face. 

And  yet, 

I  look  around,  and  know  that  He  is  near; 
I  stretch  my  hand  and  lo!  a  swift  embrace; 
I  question — hark!  within  me,  loud  and  clear, 
A  voice  that  never  dies; 
A  voice  that  testifies 
My  soul  is  part  of  Him,  although  it  wander  far. 

Shall  I  regret 
The  finite  mind,  the  failure  dead 

His  boundlessness  to  bound, 
When  perfectly  my  little  cup  is  filled  with  Him, 

And  daily  I  am  led 
By  the  same  law  of  love  that  rules  each  distant  star? 


19 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Shall  I  explore  the  vast  profound 
Where  countless  stars  and  systems  sing  His  praise, 
When  clearest  sight  is  still  too  dim 
To  reach  the  outer  rim 

Of  my  own  infinite  soul,  so  strong  and  yet  so  weak? 
Though  failure  pass  success  one  still  must  seek 

The  wisdom  of  all  ways 
That  urge  the  soul  to  flight  and  press  it  back  with  light. 

Lost  is  our  sight 
Within  His  endless  space, 
And,  lost  in  loving,  infinite  light, 
The  soul  that  seeketh  God  finds  Him  in  every  place, 
Yet  may  not  find  His  Face. 


THE  VISION  BEAUTIFUL. 

In  faltering  words  of  prayer  a  grace  I  sought; 
I  longed  the  vision  beautiful  to  see; 

0  that  my  Savior's  glance  might  rest  on  me 
And  in  my  heart  the  change  of  love  be  wrought! 

The  answer  to  my  prayer  was  swiftly  brought; 

1  saw — ah,  passing  bright! — the  way  that  He 
Had  marked  among  the  shards  and  thorns  that  we 

Might  follow  there,  by  His  example  taught. 

O  path  illumined  by  my  Savior's  feet! 
I'll  follow  where  it  leads,  and  love  shall  give 
The  full  significance  to  duty;  meet 
Shall  be  the  humblest  task;  my  joy  to  live 
And  walk  the  path  His  weary  feet  have  trod, — 
Content  to  find  therein  approach  to  God. 

20 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  LONG  VACATION. 

No  sweet  vacation-day  may  be 

Just  now  for  me, 
Although  I  slow  and  wearily 

Go  to  and  fro. 

Would  I  could  rest!    Long  years  ago 

It  seemed  that  so, 
Alone,  could  I  still  courage  show 

For  duties  nigh. 

But  wait!    Since  Time  my  soul  would  try 

So  utterly, 
I'll  mock  him,  scorn  him  and  defy; 

For  comes  a  morn 

When  of  his  strength  Time  shall  be  shorn, 

When  will  be  born 
Vacation-day  without  a  thorn! 

Then  rest  may  I. 


AT   NIGHT. 

A  truce  to  time  and  all  humanity! 
No  longer  slave  to  life  the  passionate, 
One's  soul  may  pause  a  space  and  celebrate, 

In  silence,  freedom  from  the  litany 

Of  day's  tumultuous  froth,  half  blasphemy 
And  wholly  crude,  and  feel  night  re-create 
The  weary  world  and  wearier  soul.    Love,  fate, 

Life,  death, — at  night  we  almost  hold  the  key. 

21 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


With  tranquil  eyes  the  starry  sentinels 
Of  heaven  look  down,  and  whisper  of  that  day 

Whose  perfect  round  forever  dawns  anew. 
With  tranquil  eyes,  where  faith  the  loyal  dwells, 
We  answering  look  up  and  calmly  say, 

"All's   well,   all's   well,   my  heart, — so,   heart,   be   true." 


THE   TWO    MYSTERIES. 

We  know  not  what  it  is,  dear,  this  sleep  so  deep  and  still — 
The  folded  hands,  the  awful  calm,  the  cheek  so  pale  and  chill; 
The  lids  that  will  not  lift  again,  tho'  we  may  call  and  call, 
The  strange  white  solitude  of  peace  that  settles  over  all. 

We  know  not  what  it  means,  dear,  this  desolate  heart-pain, 
This  dread  to  take  our  daily  way  to  walk  in  it  again; 
We  know  not  to  what  other  sphere  the  loved  who  leave  us  go, 
Nor  why  we're  left  to  wonder  still,  nor  why  we  do  not  know. 

But  this  we  know:   our  loved  and  dead,  if  they  should  come 

this  day, 
Should  come  and  ask  us,  "What  is  life?  "  not  one  of  us  could 

say. 

Life  is  a  mystery  as  deep  as  ever  death  could  be. 
Yet,  oh,  how  sweet  it  is  to  us,  this  life  we  love  to  see! 


22 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


GLIMPSES. 

Set  before  thy  high-born  soul 
Nothing  smaller  than  the  Whole. 
Earth  is  great  but  thou  art  greater. 
Wouldst  thou  be  her  all-translator? 

Pass  behind  her  veiled  face: 
Hidden  deeply  lies  the  grace 
Thou  art  kin  to,  waiting  thee, — 
Grace  of  love  and  purity. 
Parts  are  parts,  but  thou  art  one; 
Satisfy  thyself  with  none, 
When  thy  high  soul,  infinite, 
Throbbing,  bounding,  will  admit 
Songs  of  beauty  from  all  spheres, 
All  eternity's  full  years, 
And  the  Master! 

Good  is  one, 

Soul  of  beauty  and  bright  sun 
For  thy  doubt  and  agony; 
Come  thou  home,  mortality! 
Child,  who   vivid  visions  sees 
Of  pain's  possibilities, 
Visions  mirrored  from  the  past, 
Striking  pale  the  face  aghast, 
Thinkest  thou  that  not  for  thee 
God  ordained  a  jubilee? 
Brother,  love!     Great  love  within 
Killeth  pain  and  covereth  sin. 

All  things  call  thee  to  rejoice; 

Hast    thou    heard    their    still,    sweet   voice? 

Be  their  meaning  well  inferred, 

For  these  voices  are  as  seeds; 
Follow,  if  thou  once  hast  heard! 

Deeper,  deeper  than  all  creeds, 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Broader  far  than  sages  thought, 
Higher,  holier  than  have  sung 

Poets,  by  their  rapture  taught, 
Is  the  soul,  that  still  is  young 

After  speech  has  set  a  bound, — 
Young,  but  old  from  wandering. 

Nature's  mountain-tops  await, 
Half  explored,  her  equal  mate; 
Glories  infinite  surround 

Each  and  all;  they  cannot  bring 
Light  to  those  who  love  the  part 
More  than  God's  great  circled  Heart. 
Nature,  Beauty,  Good,  enthrone 
High  the  soul  that  knows  its  own. 


WHAT    AM    I,    LOVE? 

What  am  I,  love,  that  thou  shouldst  turn  to  me? 
Thou,  gifted  rarely  with  the  power  to  thrill 
The  hearts  of  men  with  song;  thou,  with  high  skill 

The  imprisoned  soul  in  instruments  to  free; 

Thou,  eloquent  in  tongues  and  with  the  key 
Of  wisdom  in  the  painter's  art  at  will, — 
With  other  gifts  and  knowledges  that  fill 

Thy  life?    Can  love  descend  to  me  from  thee? 

One  gift,  one  little  gift  is  mine,  to  bring 
And  offer  in  exchange  for  what  thou  art, — 

Some  trifling  power,  some  little  song  to  sing. 
I  equal  thee  in  one  thing  only, — heart, — 

And  love  thee  for  thyself  alone;    if  thou 

Wilt  so  love  me,  repeat,  renew  thy  vow. 

24 


f    ^  OFT 

te 


^    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


QUATRAINS   ON  AUTHORS. 

Emerson. 

He  heard  the  morning  stars  together  sing 

God's  song  of  light  and  joy  supernal, 
Translated  part  in  language  faltering, 

Then  joined  them  in  their  chant  eternal. 

Socrates. 

"Corrupter  of  the  youth."    O  fools  and  blind! 

He  was  your  one  great  Polar  Star  to  Truth, 
A  bright  immortal  light  of  soul  and  mind. 

That  hemlock  killed  not  him,  but  your  own  youth. 

Plato. 

Ask  not  if  Socrates  or  Plato  speak, 

When  such  white  light  would  glorify  a  score. 
Each  shines  a  star  on  Wisdom's  highest  peak — 

Or  as  twin  stars!    Could  one  reflect  such  lore? 

Saadi. 

Blend  wit  and  grace,  and  with  a  silver  tongue 
Laud  holiness  and  wisdom  —  yea,  with  speech 

Like  wedding-bells  ring  to  a  bridegroom  young, — 
Then  hang  thy  head  and  thee  let  Saadi  teach. 

Rousseau. 

He  dared  to  lay  himself  full  length  upon 
The  grim  dissecting-table  and  with  keen 

Unwavering  scalpel  bare  the  flesh  and  bone. 
Do  human  nature's  charms  redeem  the  scene? 

25 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Sidney  Lanier. 

Nay,  Pan  is  dead  and  him  it  cannot  be! 
Yet  from  the  marshes — O,  what  jubilee, 
Attempered  with  the  years,  rings  out  from  one 
Whom  music-lovers  name  Song's  worthy  son! 


Leigh  Hunt. 

I  hear  a  pleasant  rumor,  loving  friend, 
That  various  high  paths  may  claim  thee;    good! 

And  fame  go  with  thee!    for,  if  just,  they  blend 
With  that  God-given  gem  on  brotherhood. 


La  Bruyere. 

A  princely  courtier  in  this  palace  where 

King  Truth,  Queen  Beauty,  both  are  bought  and  sold. 
Hearts  loyal  please  him;   knaves  had  best  prepare 

To  be  most  neatly  pinked  with  rapier  bold. 


La  Rochefoucauld. 

A  one-eyed  diver  in  the  heart's  deep  sea, 

Who  set  in  gold  the  worthless  bones  he  found. 

The  setting  gives  them  worth  —  or  can  it  be 
Self-love  reads  on  —  because  our  friends  they  wound! 


Pope. 

Truth's  homeliest  home  of  body  is  here,  with  rhyme 
And  rhythm  as  hands  to  fend  the  touch  of  time, 
And  brilliant  sparkling  eyes  to  charm  our  wit, 
But  —  but  —  the  heart  was  left  outside  of  it! 

26 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


William  Morris. 

A  blithe  romancer,  happiest  in  the  past! 

Brave  healthy  knight  of  beauty,  chief  of  needs! 
Up,  friends,  and  joy  in  the  magic  ever  cast 

On  wholesome  life  by  wholesome  natural  deeds. 


Edwin  Arnold. 

One,  ever  one  and  beautiful  is  Light, 

Though  bearing  many  names.    Love  thou  each  ray, 
And  warm  thy  sluggish  soul  with  some  new  rite. 

Light  calls  to  prayer  and  actions  pure:    Obey. 


Firdusi. 

Chivalrous,  smooth,  pathetic,  sweet,  sublime! 
The  balanced  bearing  in  the  mosque  of  time 
Of  one  who  was  to  song  a  true  high-priest, 
Proves  well  his  title,  "Homer  of  the  East." 


Omar  Khayyam. 

Dwell  here  three  sad  sweet  Spirits:   Perfumes  born 
Of  fading  Rose-leaves,  visions  of  The  Thorn 

Behind  each  Flower  of  Joy  in  Life's  Bouquet, 
And  one  long  Sigh  we  make  too  oft  to  scorn. 


St.  Augustine. 

He  walked  with  God,  to  our  behoof  and  good. 

The  reedy  staff  of  reason,  lo!  it  grows 
In  his  hand  till  the  soul  is  strongly  wooed, — 

When  love  and  faith  still  higher  ways  disclose. 

27 


A    FO1CE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Dante. 

Deep  bites  life's  acid  on  the  heart  and  lo! 
His  world  and  ours  is  graved  thereon.    Would  he 
Have  all  forsworn  that  solemn  Comedy, 

The  price  being  love,  peace,  tranquil  death?    Ah,  no! 

Alfred  Austin. 

We  loved  you  once,  dear  Shakespere,  Wordsworth,  all 
Who  really  heard  The  Sisters'  mystic  call, — 
But  now  we  bow  to  genius!     Ere  you  frown, 
Pray  take  your  opera  glasses  and  look  —  up. 


Wordsworth. 

With  deep  love-opened  eyes  he  paced  the  bound 
Of  God's  fair  garden  —  flower,  field  and  sky; 

Yet  joyed  the  most  to  feel  his  God  surround 
Mankind,  the  fruit,  with  immortality. 


Montaigne. 

Wide  learning,  interest  calm  in  all  man's  deeds, 
Deep  insight  into   king's  and  peasant's  heart,- 

All  these  have  others  also;    he  succeeds 
Because  himself  is  limned  with  artful  art. 


Bobby   Burns. 

The  douce  and  unco*  guid  —  Old  Clootie  tak*  'em, 
While  couthie  Bobby  lilts  a  healsome  sang! 

"The  dearthfu'  Lord  be  thankit  that  he  spak'  'em,' 
Says  ilka  heart  that  isna  wholly  wrang. 

28 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Theocritus. 

Come  bathe  in  Grecian  sunshine  warm  and  sweet. 

Here  shepherds  pipe  their  lays  to  maidens  true, 
And  false;   fast  beats  the  pulse;  the  Graces  meet; — 

Come  breathe  the  summer's  sweet  bouquet  anew. 

Marcus  Aurelius. 

A  heathen?     God  have  mercy  on  the  saints!  — 
Adulterous  David,  Solomon,  who  broke 

God's  sternest  laws,  weak  Peter,  with  three  taints, 
Abram,  liar!  —  Marcus,  loan  these  men  thy  cloak. 

Epictetus. 

A  stoic?    Ay  and  more, —  a  child  of  heaven, 
(Or  may  I  never  reach  it!)  who,  as  sure 

Of  God  and  right  as  self,  in  holy  Steven 
Outpoured  his  life  to  make  men  strong  and  pure. 


Joaquin   Miller. 

A  salty  breeze  of  springtime,  fresh  and  strong, 
The  Western  World  blows  through  its  Golden  Gate. 

God's  earth  is  young  and  fair  and  nothing  wrong, 
Save  when  man  turns  to  worship  gold,  and  hate. 

Walt  Whitman. 

Enter,  who  love  brpad  sympathy,  the  fresh 

Sweet  air  of  woods,  the  heart  of  faith  and  joy  — 

Read  Whitman.    If  we  glimpse  forbidden  flesh, 
Receive  the  good  and  pass  the  slight  alloy! 

29 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Thoreau. 

Why  do  the  trees  confide  in  him?   and  why 
The  squirrels,  ay,  the  timid  fish,  that  brave 
Freely  their  lives?    He  loved  them!   and  love's  wave 

Bore  wealthy  ships,  that  now  at  anchor  lie. 


Browning. 

A  rugged  road  he  hewed  up  Wisdom's  mountain, 
Where  steady  brain  and  feet  alone  may  follow; 

But  star-grown  fruits  and  many  a  crystal  fountain 
Reward  the  wondering  souls  that  leave  the  hollow. 


Mrs.  Browning. 

The  tense  cord  only  yields  to  music's  thrill. 

Pain  compassed  soul  and  body  for  a  time, 
Baptizing  after-love  with  light,  until 

She  rang  life's  carillon  in  deathless  rhyme. 


Milton. 

He  stands  a  massive  marble  monument, 

Pre-eminently  sculptured  in  relief 
With  vast  adventurous  dreams  magnificent, 

And  stately  pictures  of  man's  joy  and  grief. 

Sir  Thomas  Browne. 

O  bishop  in  disguise,  come,  dispossess 
Our  souls  of  paltry  aims  and  narrowness, 
And  teach  the  writers  of  the  present  time 
That  "beauty"  may  with  Christian  "duty"  rhyme. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Hawthorne. 

The  mosses  will  not  grow  upon  his  tales 
Until  life's  sweet  and  minor  tones  we  hate; 

Oblivion  will  not  still  the  woful  wails 
Of  one  sad  wrong  while  any  wrong's  innate. 

Tennyson. 

O  kingly  brain  and  knightly  hand!  We  bow 
Anew  to  virtue  when  with  beauty  crowned, 

And  love  fair  beauty  most  on  virtue's  brow. 
Full  well  we  love  when  these,  with  faith,  abound. 

Ruskin. 

The  art  of  life  demands  a  lifetime's  art, 
With  art  and  beauty,  work  and  duty  filled; 

While  earth's  rude  mart  needs  most  the  unselfish  heart 
Skilled  in  love's  art,  and  by  high  virtues  thrilled. 

Carlyle. 

Be  bold  for  battle,  brothers!    Sin  and  bale 
Abound  here  hand  in  hand,  and  damned  be  he 
Who  blinds  his  eyes.    God  watches!    Hope,  and  be 

Bright  heroes,  clad  in  God  and  Good  for  mail. 

Walton. 

Ah,  ha!   the  friend,  the  field,  the  gentle  stroll, 
But  most  the  happy  contemplative  goal 
Of  fishing!    Ah,  that  bait  of  pleasure  fine 
No  honest  gentleman  will  e'er  decline. 

31 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Swinburne. 

The  evening,  not  the  morning,  stars  heard  he; 

The  music  of  his  morbid  jubilee 

Enraptures  and  rebuffs  in  equal  parts, 

Yet  all  love  him  who  loves  love's  joys  and  smarts. 

Villon. 

The  heart  of  song  is  song  about  the  heart; 

The  salt  of  song  is  sure  the  shade  of  death. 
Come,  sing,  and  love  the  body  till  we  part, 

For  where  are  they  who  swayed  worlds  with  a  breath? 

Paul  Verlaine. 

Love,  and  bewildering  reign  of  the  senses, 

Pain,  and  the  mystical  reason  for  all, 
Music,  like  charity,  veiling  offences, — 

And  Satan  a-grin  at  his  beautiful  thrall! 

Heine. 

A   stormy  petrel,   resting,  sleeping  never, 
That  circles  homeless  o'er  the  restless  waves 

Of  bitter  time,  yet  swift  to  catch  and  sever 
From  gloomy  clouds  the  one  sweet  drop  that  saves. 

Jean  Ingelow. 

The  holiest  shrine  vouchsafed  for  us  to  know 
Is  some  pure  woman's  heart.    Our  hearts  bend  low 
Before  the  snow-white  thought,  the  star-keen  light 
Which  is  herself,  revealed  with  graceful  might. 

32 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Thomas  a'Kempis. 

I  am  but  night;    Lord  Christ,  be  Thou  my  Light! 

I  am  but  weakness;   guard  me  or  I  fall! 
I  and  the  world  are  hopeless;   purge  our  sight! 

Light,  Strength  and  Hope, — Thou,  Christ,  art  All  in  All! 


Longfellow. 

No  dashing  eloquence,  no  strange  wild  strain 
That  fires  the  blood  as  warriors  storm  a  town; 

He  comes  as  comes  the  gentle  steady  rain, 
Refreshing  each  dry  field  where  it  sinks  down. 


Bryant. 

He  is  a  forest-walk  on  some  fair  hill, 
Where  utter  peace  may  nurse  the  weary  breast; 

Sweet  flowers  kiss  the  mold  beside  a  rill, 
And  shyly  steal  the  sunbeams  in  to  rest. 


Goldsmith. 

How  great  is  great  simplicity,  how  dear 
To  minds  aweary  of  the  tangled  maze 
That  dreamers,  wise  but  narrow,  on  us  blaze! 

The  deep  may  still  be  fair  and  calm  and  clear. 


William  Blake. 

He  was  a  breeze  from  the  eternal  field 
Where  perfect  souls,  young  evermore,  attend 

The  flowers  of  God's  thoughts,  and  sometimes  yield 
A  fragrant  breath  to  souls  they  would  befriend. 

33 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Lamb. 

To  genial  wit  and  wisdom  drain  the  wine, 

(The  brave  heart  gains  the  lion's  honey  sweet) 

And  murmur  "Thank  the  gods  for  every  line!" 
(But  oh,  the  ridged  way  and  stinging  sleet!) 

Christina  G.  Rosetti. 

Most  fair  is  childhood,  passing  fair  the  bright 
Sweet  show  each  passing  day  yields  —  and  destroys. 

But  all  —  ah,  all  is  vanity  and  blight 
Beside  the  Better  Country's  perfect  joys. 


Poe. 

Lo,  'tis  a  gala  night,  with  cypress-breath, 
And  these  be  wooded  isles  of  life  and  death, 
Where  muffled  spirits  chant  a  dirge  of  time, 
Melodious,  wild,  and  morbidly  sublime. 

Robert  L.  Stevenson. 

With  boyish  shouts  he  cries  out  for  the  sea, 

With  manhood's  force  he  makes  a  clear-cut  way, 
With  womanly  winning  grace  he  lights  the  day, 

And  round  his  feet  we  cluster  breathlessly. 

Moore. 

O  harp  of  Erin,  isle  of  wit  and  woe! 

O  harp  and  heart  of  music,  love  and  tears, — 
The  winds  of  life  have  rarely  to  and  fro 

Swept  o'er  a  quicker  heart  through  all  the  years! 

34 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Confucius. 

How  paltry  sound  the  nations'  parting  names, 
When  one  great  language  falls  from  each  great  mind! 

Beside  all  prophets  pure  Confucius  flames, 
Who  laws  of  love  and  duty  well  divined. 


Homer. 

Lo,  god-like  men  and  men-like  gods,  who  bend 
Before  the  throne  of  beauty's  dazzling  queen! 

Yet  greater  is  their  great  creator,  friend 
To  all  who  glory  in  all  passions  keen. 


Shakspere. 

Astronomers  reel  back  from  endless  space, 
And  muse  in  awe  upon  the  countless  stars; 
So,  here,  man's  infinite  life  no  limit  mars, 

And  each  himself  may  study  face  to  face. 


Goethe. 

Where  dwelleth  knowledge?    I  will  seek  it  out, 

And  flash  white  lightning  through  its  years-dried  rind 
That  one  may  zone  with  light  nature  and  mind 

'Tis  fit  that  women  weep,  I  have  no  doubt! 


The  Author  of  Job. 

Set  he  the  world's  high-water  mark  of  true 
And  living  poetry.    Simple,  profound, 
Sublime,  the  inner  as  the  outer  bound 

Of  man's  great  soul  is  greatly  held  in  view. 

35 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Byron. 

For  him  God  freely  poured  the  wine  of  song 
And  sorrow.    Rich,  poor,  sensitive,  unwise, 
He  reckless  sang  his  heart  and  scorned  disguise. 

His  wealth  is  ours,  his  faults  to  God  belong. 


Keats. 

"In  His  own  image  God  created  man;" 

And  there  be  some,  like  this  immortal  youth, 
Who  bear  the  Spirit's  stamp  and  hear,  in  truth, 

Unheard  sweet  melodies  Saturnian. 


Shelley. 

A  man?  A  star,  a  lark  near  heaven's  shut  gate, 
Singing  with  broken  wing.  I  think  that  when 
His  glorious  songs  and  dreams  all  left  his  pen, 

That  gate  he  doubted  so  they  opened  straight. 


Sappho. 

Alas!   Time's  tangled  tree-tops  caught  but  few 
Short  flashes  of  thy  silver  moon  of  song 

For  us,  and  yet  those  broken  beams  strike  through 
Our  thrilling  thoughts  until  they  seem  a  throng. 


De  Quincey. 

"Of  making  many  books  there  is  no  end," 
Nor  lack  of  loving  readers  when  the  fire 
Of  utter  genius  makes  them  to  suspire. 

We  honor  self  in  calling  thee  our  friend. 

36 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  SEASHORE  AT  NIGHT. 

I  hear  the  pulse  of  Father  Time,  I  see 
The  stormy  surge  of  life  akin  to  mine, 

The  spirit  of  the  sea  locks  arms  with  me 
And  whispers  of  his  peace  beneath  the  brine. 

Above,  where  softly  walks  the  moon,  is  peace; 

Below,  where  sleep  the  dead,  is  sweet  release; 

Between,  a  worthless  soul  that  well  may  cease. 

The  roar,  the  roar,  the  booming  ceaseless  roar! 

And  yet,  the  silence  underneath  the  frush!      * 
I  reach  my  arms,  I  reach  my  soul.    Yet  more 

And  more,  O  brother  mine,  of  cry  and  hush 
Speed  in  on  me  from  the  infinities  deep; 
For  I,  too,  seem  a  sea  and  I  have  keep 
Of  panting  thoughts  and  hopes  that  will  not  sleep. 

I  too  reach  up  a  shore  not  yet  for  me; 

I  too  sob  out  by  night  and  day  my  breath, 
And  pauselessly  my  beating  heart,  unfree 

From  time  and  tears,  awaits  the  calmer,  Death. 
Moan  on,  O  brother,  moan,  yet  sing  of  peace 
Beneath  thy  throbs;  there  comes — there  comes  release, 
When  restless  surge  of  sea  and  life  shall  cease. 

HER   PORTRAIT. 

As  on  some  distant  star  you  gaze  at  night, 
And  wondering,  low  in  silence  bend  your  soul 

Before  that  radiant  miracle  of  light, 

Too  rare  and  far  for  you  to  read  its  scroll, 

So  gaze  upon  this  portrait  and  be  dumb  — 
To  you  it  speaks  as  spoke  the  distant  star, 

Careless  and  cold;   to  me  —  to  me  there  come 
Sweet  messages  of  love  from  realms  afar. 

37 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


CALIFORNIA. 

Five  thousand  years  the  cry  of  "Westward ! "  rose 
Within  the  ardent  restless  Aryan  race, 
Five  thousand  stormy  years  they  sought  the  grace 

Of  some  Hesperian  land  of  pure  repose. 

At  last  God  greatly  smiled:  here  ever  glows 
The  sun  of  peace  on  man's  and  nature's  face. 
The  crowning  crown  is  gained  —  beyond  is  space  — 

And  all  that  man  may  ask  this  land  bestows. 

Rest  now,  O  weary  race,  forevermore. 

'Tis  afternoon,  and  wanderings  are  done. 
The  Lord  of  Life  still  beckons  on  before 

To  his  own  land  of  peace  beyond  the  sun, 
But  California  ends  the  earthly  quest: 

'Tis  afternoon;  joy,  and  lie  down  and  rest. 


DAWN    IN    THE    SAN    JOAQUIN    VALLEY. 

The  stars'  song  died  away;    Sierras'  snows 
Faint-heralded  the  day's  departing  sleep, 
And  earth  was  infinitely  still.    Deep,  deep 

The  stillness  pressed,  until  I  felt  it  close 

Night's  sombre  page  and  the  soul's  more  sombre  woes. 
Now  clearer,  clearer  o'er  the  snow-crowned  steep 
The  lambent  spirit  drew,  and  swift  its  sweep 

Without  awoke  within  hope's  joyous  glows. 

So  calm,  so  pure!   and  still  the  brightness  grew. 

So  holy  earth,  I,  too,  grew  holy  then, 
And  breathed  God's  air  without,  within,  anew. 

So  dazzling  bright!    I  gazed  intent,  as  when 
A  heaven-born  soul  bows  first  before  The  Flame, 
And  I,  too,  bowed  to  where  His  angel  came. 

38 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE    PLAY    IN    THE    VESTIBULE. 

I  saw  a  play  within  a  vestibule, 

Or  ere  the  lights  revealed  the  room  beyond. 

A  motley  crowd  strode  up  and  down  the  stage. 

Fair  wide-eyed  children  lisped  their  parts,  old  men 

And  women  wandered  through  the  shifting  maze, 

Half-carelessly,  and  both  were  elbowed  by 

Strong  men  and  maidens,  who  declaimed  so  loud 

Their  varied  lines  I  listened,  smiling.     Some, 

Too  conscious  of  rich  robes  and  prominent  parts, 

Played  ill,  for  with  a  selfishness  extreme 

And  pride  that  sneered  at  heaven  itself,  they  stalked 

With  arrogance  upon  the  rights  of  men, 

Who  through  sweet  gentleness  or  timid  hearts 

Gave  place  to  force,  content  to  yield  their  rights 

That  discord  fiercer  still  might  not  destroy 

The  great  effect  desired.    Some  marred  the  play 

By  spending  all  their  breath  in  scorning,  yea, 

In  cursing  others;    some  were  ignorant 

And  stumbled  in  each  gesture,  word  and  act, 

And  some,  far  too  intent  on  watching  close 

Their  fellow-actors,  or  engrossed  in  dreams 

Of  happy  leisure  on  the  morrow,  failed 

To  heed  their  time,  and  would  not  win,  I  thought, 

Full  payment  for  their  hours. 

Here  fainted  one, 

O'ercome  with  secret  pain;  but  rarely  stooped 
A  soul  to  aid,  though  feebleness  in  one 
Made  all  the  others  weaker.     Selfishness 
And  pride  ruled  every  step  of  many  there, 
And,  oh,  it  was  most  pitiful  when  base 
And  hateful  parts  won  most  the  loud  applause 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Of  men  and  women!     Moans  and  groans  arose 

From  souls  crushed  ruthlessly  aside  and  robbed 

Of  rightful  place  upon  the  stage,  until 

It  seemed  a  tragedy  as  far  below 

The  lowest  hell  as  hell  is  far  from  heaven. 

And  still  the  drama  surged. 

From  these  I  turned 

And  gladly  watched  the  worthy  players,  those 
Who  sought  the  meaning  of  the  author,  then 
Put  all  their  heart  and  soul  and  body  in 
Love's  labor  of  interpretation.    Love, 
Indeed,  the  key-note  seemed  of  all  that  strange 
And  mystic  plot,  for  watching  these  wise  souls 
Give  love  for  dross,  seek  love  beneath  each  mask, 
And  urge  its  growth,  declaring  it  the  one 
True  binding  law  which  quickened  all  the  play 
And  crowned  the  end  with  peace,  I  dared  believe 
That  they  had  caught  the  motive  of  the  piece, 
That  they  alone  revealed  that  play  to  be 
No  dream  of  passing  worth,  but  full  of  ends 
Most  weighty.    These  redeemed  it! 

Various  some, 

Clad  in  the  common  guise  of  laborers 
And  playing  most  in  pantomime,  upheld 
The  honor  of  the  stage  so  gloriously 
I  clapped  my  hands  and  wished  them  higher  place, 
While  here  some  fragile  form  drew  from  me  tears, 
So  nobly  did  she  bear  her  through  the  stress 
And  storm  of  acting.    There,  again,  a  man, 
Half  clad,  shamed  scores  of  weak  or  coward  souls 
To  braver  ways,  and  these  reached  out  and  passed 
The  blessing  on  to  others.    Children  knew 


40 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Instinctively  the  spirit  of  the  piece, 
And  prompted  often  men  and  women  who 
Grew  faint  and  near  forgot  their  lines  because 
The  air  was  stifled. 

Each  part,  high  or  low, 
Or  pure  or  base,  all  interwoven  was 
With  marvelous  scale  of  parts;    yet  oftentimes 
I  saw  an  actor  flinch  and  sigh,  and  then 
Retire  beyond  my  gaze.    Pause  there  was  none; 
Recruited  from  what  ranks  I  could  not  see, 
The  place  was  filled. 

Oh,  furious  and  wild 

Swept  on  that  mystic  play,  that  awful  play, 
That  tragedy!    And  yet  it  seemed  a  thing 
Whose  purpose  it  would  joy  the  heart  to  know, 
Since  wondrous  God-like  love  in  many  hearts 
Abounded.  —  Let  me  not  forget  to  speak 
Of  certain  there  for  whom  I  trembled,  lest 
The  drama  fail  in  purpose  through  them;    souls 
Who  gave  their  time  and  strength  that  others  might 
Achieve  their  ends,  the  while  their  own  dear  parts 
Seemed  all  forgot.     Shall  I  win  credence  when 
I  swear  that  sombre  drama  glowed  with  light 
Because  of  silent  souls  like  these? 

I   gazed 

With  ardent  smiles  and  tears  until,  perplexed 
With  many  a  doubt,  I  turned  away  mine  eyes 
To  know  the  reason  of  this  play.    One  flash  — 
The  Author  —  He  the  Lord  of  Life  —  a  hope  — 
A  cry  for  greater  light  —  then  darkness.    Then 
I  had  the  reason,  all  my  soul  could  grasp! 
He  is,  He,  Lord  of  Life  and  Love,  and  guides 
The  World,  eternity's  dark  vestibule. 

41 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


OPPOSITION. 

"Can  this  be  well,  that  day  by  day  the  swell 
And  surge  of  troubles,  griefs  and  doubts  return 
To  curse  the  heart  which  hoped  some  day  to  earn 

The  joy  and  peace  that  with  true  conquerors  dwell? 

I  face  each  hour  the  thoughts  no  thoughts  can  quell, 
The  wearying  tasks  whose  good  I  never  learn, 
Nor  dare  to  hope,  howe'er  the  heart  may  yearn, 

For  rest  this  side  the  grave:  can  this  be  well?  " 

Poor,  weary  soul,  let  nature  speak  to  thee: 
Forespent  with  many  flights  through  hindering  air, 

A  lark  once  prayed  that  air  might  cease  to  be. 
Her  folly  granted,  all  too  late  aware 

How  the  opposing  ether  made  her  rise, 

She  fell  to  earth,  no  more  to  reach  the  skies. 


THE    OLD    STORY. 

I,  IX, 

He.  Flee. 

II,  X, 
She.  Decree. 

III,  XI, 
Free.  Jubilee. 

IV,  XII, 
See?  Three. 

V,  XIII, 
Tea.  Disagree. 

VI,  XIV, 
Knee.  Decree. 

VII,  XV, 
Plea.  Glee. 
VIII, 

Agree. 

42 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE    PILOT. 

The  Captain's  voice  was  clear  and  loud. 
"What  course  is  this,  O  Pilot  rude, 

That  thou  art  taking,  when  my  word 
Should  guide  thee?    What!  shall  joy  elude 

My  grasp  because  thine  eyes  are  blurred?" 
The  Pilot  guides  the  ship  with  dim 
Hid  face,  and  words  are  nought  to  him. 

The  Captain  raised  a  heavy  hand. 
"Beware!  my  might  shall  fiercely  glow 

If  thou  guide  not  as  I  shall  say. 
I  rule  my  voyage  and  I  know, 

Alone,  the  path  by  night  and  day." 
The  sun  sails  calmly  with  sweet  grace, — 
Still  guides  the  Pilot  with  hid  face. 

Despair  makes  low  the  Captain's  voice. 
"Nor  joy,  nor  hope  of  joy,  is  mine, 

Who  sail  alone  and  ever  must. 
The  ship  shall  sink;    I  will  decline 

To  serve  'neath  one  I  cannot  trust." 
The  Pilot  hears. — A  thousand  suns 

Would  shed  but  darkness  to  the  light 

From  him  that  flames.    The  Captain  shuns 

That  awful  gaze  and  kneels,  contrite. 

His  voice  prays  weepingly  and  low, 
"My  Pilot,  shrive  me  from  the  past! 

I  erred,  not  knowing  anything. 
Lead  on,  to  love  or  chilling  blast, 
Eternal  Pilot,  Lord  and  King." 
The  ship  sped  on.    The  Pilot  smiled, 
For  man  and  he  were  reconciled. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


TOO    LATE. 

"It  was  a  crime,  that  bitter  word  from  me, 
A  crime,  O  Christ,  that  breaks  my  heart,"  she  said. 

(Shall  love  be  given  tomorrow  or  today?) 
"Forgive  me,  dear  Lord  Christ,  and  grant  this  plea: 
Restore  my  breast  his  loving  heart  and  head." 
(Give  love  today  and  always  —  while  you  may.) 

"I  pained  him!  —  I,  unworthy  now  indeed 
Of  his  dear  love  or  touch  upon  the  brow." 

(Shall  nettle-seed  be  sown  and  roses  bloom?) 
"I  pained  him!  yet  such  love  as  his  would  heed 
My  bitter  cry  if  he  but  heard  it  now!" 

(Lo!   seeds  shall  bear  their  kind,  for  joy  or  gloom.) 

"O  sailor-lover,  husband,  come  to  me! 
The  Christ  shall  die  before  I  curse  again." 

(May  many  tears  bring  back  a  spirit-soul?) 
"He  will  return!    He  can  but  heed  my  plea! 
He  will  return  —  but  I  grieve  on  till  then." 
(Will  tears  avail  when  Death  has  claimed  his  toll?) 


TO   WILLIAM   WATSON. 

(Author  of  "The  Purple  East.") 

The  nation  lives!  We  thought  her  dead  indeed, 
Old  England,  dead,  or  palsied  with  old  age, 
When  month  succeeded  month  and  still  the  gage 

Of  righteous  war  was  not  thrown  down,  to  weed 

The  world  of  Turkey.    But  in  time  of  need 
A  true  man  speaks,  and  through  the  hermitage 
Of  one  brave  man,  who  spurns  her  patronage 

And  laughs  at  hate,  rebukes  from  God  proceed. 

44 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Stand  forth,  high  William  Watson!    Thou  art  crowned 
By  thine  own  words  beyond  the  words  of  king. 

And  we  would  crowd  to  laud  thee,  thee,  renowned 
For  loyalty  to  truth!     Take  heart  and  sing 

Again  and  once  again  God's  curse  on  wrong, 

Until  the  nation  strike  where  points  thy  song. 


THE    BOOKWORM    vs.    NATURE. 

I.  Marvel  Howe  so  many  can 

Seek  Fields  outdoors  wherein  to  roam! 
My  Greenwood  Landor  Fielding  Gay, 

Give  me  a  Holiday  at  home. 

I  fear  the  dogs  and  cows  and  bulls 

Might  give  me  Payne  I  could  not  Dodge; 

My  Barker's  mild,  and  Cowper's  Child 
Might  lead  my  Bulwer  past  the  Lodge. 

I  miss  no  flowers  by  the  Brooke, — 

My  flowers  of  rhetoric  suffice. 
When  Boothes  are  Browne  and  rills  come  down 

Swift  from  the  Hill,  I  Read  Fordyce. 

I'm  Savage, —  O,  the  Dickens!  —  when 
To  me  some  Young  Green  Suckling  cries, 

"Longfellow,  guide  to  the  mountain-side." 
My  Montaigne  on  my  bosom  lies. 

The  stile  I  sit  on  near  the  Burns 
Is  any  style  that  makes  me  Cross. 

My  Hare  is  Wilde,  though  I'm  beguiled 
From  Sterne-ness  then  by  dear  old  Moss. 

45 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


I  Will  Shakespears  and  Martial  jeers 
Against  the  Ranke  who  make  me  Smart, 

And,  not  to  Trench  too  "Lang"  on  space, 
A  Words'worth  Moore  '11  express  my  Harte ; 

I  save  my  Bacon  and  my  Lamb 
For  Vi(r)gils  in  the  tranquil  Knight, 

When  a  Plato*  type  and  a  meerschaum  pipe 
Knock  nature  higher  than  a  kite. 


WHAT    SEEKEST    THOU? 

What  seekest  thou,  my  friend? 

Wealth?  —  to  be  left  when  life  is  beginning. 

Power?  —  but  none  with  the  angel  of  death. 

Fame?  —  it  but  lasts  with  the  butterfly's  breath. 

Happiness?  —  selfish  and  fickle  forever. 

Peace?  —  'tis  the  crown  of  some  other  endeavor. 

Love?  —  seek  love  and  bestow  it,  bestow  it, 
Give  love  to  the  uttermost  end, 
Seek  it  out  and  give  freely  and  show  it, 
For  in  love  and  love  only,  my  friend, 
Blend  the  glories  and  beauties  worth  winning. 

Born  of  eternity's  breath, 

King  of  the  angel  of  death, 
Wealth  that  endureth  forever, 
Power  that  weakeneth  never, 
Fame  without  shame  or  endeavor, 
Happiness  true  and  supernal, 
Peace  perfect,  immortal,  eternal, 

Fountain  of  the  very  God, 

Spirit  of  His  smile  and  rod, 

Star  of  hope  at  the  broken  sod, — 
Verily,  mighty,  marvelous,  whole, 
Love  is  the  goal  of  the  soul. 

46 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  GREATER  SCALE. 

I  think  this  music-scale  of  sounds  we  know, 
This  wondrous  range  from  highest  starlight  roll 
To  lowest  thunder-bass,  is  to  God's  whole 

Vast  music-realm  as  one  short  note,  one  low 

Half-heard  sweet  note  of  all,  whose  wider  flow 
Shall  some  day  seem  God's  voice  to  each  pure  soul. 
Then  shall  no  jarring  chord  the  rest  control, 

For  discord  dies  with  all  of  earthly  woe. 

If  but  one  note,  fragmented  thus  for  man, 
Hold  in  its  heart  a  power  occult  as  life, 

Bewitching  as  the  loved  one,  strong  as  hope, 
What  lordship  infinite  and  sweeter  than 

The  rarest  mortals  dream  through  all  their  strife, 
Awaits  the  souls  that  now  in  discord  grope! 


BEFORE    THE    FIRE. 

He. 

How  strange !    Sweet  love,  I  have  been  traveling  back 
To  the  twilight  fields  of  first  impressions,  where 

Thy  spirit  first  revealed  to  me  my  lack, 

Spreading  a  feast  the  while,  but  though  I  stare 

With  eager  eyes  to  find  that  happy  morn, 

I  cannot  say  what  day  my  love  was  born. 

She. 
Hark  to  the  wind!    It  blows  so  wild  tonight 

I  think  perhaps  'tis  loveless, —  and  so  old! 
Find  me  its  home,  or  trace  its  wayward  flight 

For  but  one  hour,  ere  thou  seek  to  unfold 
The  mystic  ways  of  love.  Why  reason,  dear, 
And  seek  again  her  gates  when  love  is  near? 

47 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


He. 
The  gates  of  love!    The  reasons  of  the  heart 

Pass  reason,  truly.    Sweet,  if  I  could  tell 
Just  why,  when  we  two  met  no  more  to  part, 

Just  why  or  one  the  smallest  word  could  spell 
Why  love  was  born  in  me,  I  think  that  you 
Should  doubt  my  love!  —  but  this  I  cannot  do. 

She. 
When  Love  Divine  breathed  out  our  souls,  that  die 

With  him,  he  willed  that  we  should  meet  and  love. 
Because  you,  dear,  are  you  and  I  am  I, 

Behold,  we  love!    And  more  may  no  man  prove. 
We  love,  and  love  The  Love  that  gave  us  bliss. 
We  love!    no  word  can  satisfy  like  this. 


EASTER. 

Awake!  Behold!  the  sun  of  all  the  days 

Of  all  the  year  arises  now  on  earth, 

The  one  great  day  whence  all  days  take  their  worth. 
The  Saviour  lives!    Rejoice,  and  love  and  praise 
The  loving  God  who  suffered  in  the  clay's 

Strait  fold,  and  died  man's  death  to  give  man  birth. 

Uplift  the  head,  for  this  despairing  dearth 
Called  life  shall  rise  to  life  no  speech  conveys 

He  lives,  and  death  is  dead  beneath  his  feet; 

He  lives,  and  death  is  silent  guide  to  life 
For  all  who  seek  the  higher  ways  and  meet. 

Uplift  the  head  and  sing,  for  no  man's  strife 
For  Truth  and  God  shall  fail:   today  is  born 
Life's  greatest  hope,  the  hope  of  life  at  morn. 

48 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 

CONTENTMENT. 
(From  Gladwin's  prose  version  of  Saadi.) 

"How  strangely  hard  are  fortune's  ways  to  me! 

May  not  I  murmur  now,  when  fate 
Deprives  my  feet  of  shoes,  nor  lets  me  see 

The  way  to  change  my  woful  state?" 

With  heavy  heart  I  spoke,  and  went  within 
The  mosque  to  pray,  when,  glancing  'round, 

A  sight  far  worse  convicted  me  of  sin: 
A  man  who  lacked  both  feet  I  found. 

O  Allah,  I  will  give  to  Thee  all  praise! 

Forgive   my   murmuring,   life's   last, 
As  first,  and  when  Thy  will  my  soul  dismays 

I  will  recall  Thy  blessings  vast. 

MODERATION. 
(From  Gladwin's  prose  version  of  Saadi.) 

Ardsheer,  the  King,  intent  on  doing  well, 
Once  questioned  his  physician  on  the  weight 

Of  food  a  man  might  daily  eat,  yet  dwell 
Long  on  the  earth  before  he  reached  death's  gate. 

A  small  amount  the  wise  physician  named. 

Surprised  and  all  displeased,  "What  strength  can  be 
In  one  who  stints  him  thus?  "  the  King  exclaimed, 

Too  fond  of  eating  quickly  to  agree. 

Bravely  the  answer  came:  "Enough  is  this, 
(And  more  would  be  a  burden  indiscreet:) 

Should  not  we  eat  to  live,  and  find  our  bliss 
In  praising  Allah?  but  you  live  to  eat! " 

49 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 

^ 

INSCRIPTION   FOR  A  STATUE   OF  ANACREON. 
(Theocritus,  Fragment  XVI.) 

Pause  and  mark  well  this  statue,  you  who  roam, 
And  say,  when  thou  returnest  to  thy  home, 

"In  Teos  the  statue  of  Anacreon 
Beheld  I,  he  who  surely  far  excelled 

All  singing  souls  of  all  the  ages  gone." 
Add  that  with  love  for  youth  his  bosom  swelled, 
And  nothing  of  Anacreon  is  withheld. 

CHARITY. 

"O  lack  of  charity.    'Tis  such  a  grave  offence," 
Said  I  to  self  one  day,  "A  book  I  will  commence — " 
But  here  my  soul  replied,  "First  change  your  residence." 


MY    AGE. 

My  age?    Five  thousand  years. —  A  somewhat  lengthy  span? 
But  men  who  lived  and  wrote  soon  after  time  began 
Are  truly  part  of  me:  —  a  very  aged  man. 


MATERNITY. 

O  miracle  occult  of  womanhood! 
Methinks  the  angels  still  bow  low  in  awe 
Before  the  silent  workings  of  a  law 

Whose  secret  ways  no  soul  has  understood, 
However  men  their  wise  conclusions  draw. 

50 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Lo,  hear  them  prate  —  restating  laws,  in  sooth, 
But  touching  never  explanation's  hem! 
Meanwhile,  each  day  the  sacred  diadem 

Of  mortal  life,  beginning,  crowns  in  truth 
Woman  and  man  as  holy  parent-stem. 

In  reverence  high  hold  woman !  —  chief est,  when 
A  new  immortal  life  is  drawing  near. 
In  reverence  hold  her, — yea,  although  she  sear 

Her  frail  or  ignorant  soul  with  sin;  at  men, 
I  think,  God  hurls  his  curses  most  severe! 


LOVE'S    PROOFLESSNESS. 

Pain  may  display  and  prove  itself  at  need: 
She  hath  a  tongue  wherewith  to  tell  her  woe 
What  time  the  heart  no  longer  dares  to  go 

Along  the  way  alone;    and  she  may  feed 

Upon  the  gestures  of  despair  and  plead 
In  silence  deep;    and,  last  of  ways  that  show 
And  ease  the  aching  heart,  the  blessed  flow 

Of  tears  may  prove  and  succor  her  indeed. 

But  what  hath  love  of  outward  sign  or  grace? 

How  canst  thou  know  my  joy  in  loving  thee? 
No  words  avail,  nor  play  of  eyes  or  face, 

And  tears  are  meet  but  when  thy  tears  I  see. 
Love  thou,  sweetheart,  and  love  shall  prove  apace 

How  proofless  yet  how  perfect  love  may  be. 


51 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


A    VALENTINE. 

There  is  a  weighty  question 
That  men  would  fain  decide, 

And  down  through  all  the  ages 
They've  wrangled  till  they  died; 

A  question  big  and  puzzling 
On  which  we  quarrel  still, 

And  doubt  our  own  decisions  — 
The  freedom  of  the  Will. 

Are  we  the  helpless  children 

Of  fates  we  must  obey, 
Or  may  we  plan  and  conquer, 

And  have  our  own  sweet  way? 

Now  I  will  let  the  schoolmen 
Go  on  from  bad  to  worse, 

And  simply  tell  my  sweetheart, 
In  graceful,  stately  verse,  (?) 

That  when  my  Heart  is  leading, 

And  all  my  Will  is  free, 
Why,  Fate  must  follow  after 

And  be  a  slave  to  me! 

My  heart  leads  on  to  you,  dear, 

My  blessed  Valentine! 
I  pray  you  take  and  keep  it 

And  give  me  yours  for  mine! 

But  if  my  heart  and  will,  dear, 
Are  yours  "for  keeps,"  O  where 

Is  all  my  boasted  freedom 
That  used  to  look  so  fair? 
52 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


You  stole  it!    I  am  still,  then, 

Led  on  by  Fate,  not  Will! 
And  yet,  if  Will  be  happy 

My  state  is  Freedom  still! 

O  happy,  blessed  tangle! 

My  dearest  Valentine, 
The  love  that  binds  together, 

As  one,  your  heart  and  mine, 

May  laugh  and  crook  its  finger 

At  all  that  is  obscure; 
The  love  that  makes  us  one,  dear, 

Is  plain  and  sweet  and  sure. 

MY    CELESTIAL    VISITOR. 

Once  upon  a  midnight  dreary,  while  I  pondered,  weak  and 

weary, 

O'er  a  bill  of  twenty  dollars  I  could  never,  never  pay, 
O'er  a  bill  for  washing  collars  from  the  Chinaman  o'er  the 

way, 
While  I  wondered  how  the  —  (dash)  —  I  could  ever  find  the 

cash, 
Straight  there   came  a  mighty  pounding,  pounding  on  my 

chamber  door, 

And  I  burrowed  in  the  bed-clothes  deeper  than  I  was  before, 
Deeper  far  than  e'er  before. 

Now  the  room  was  nigh  to  freezing  and,  although  it  set  me 

sneezing, 
And  although  it  set  me  wheezing  like  a  man  who  "does  not 

snore," 
Straight  I  flung  the  bed-clothes  off  me  and  I  bounded  to  the 

door. 

53 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


I  had  heard  that  kick  before  and  I  bounded  for  that  door, 
Meaning  now  to  take  my  vengeance,  meaning  now  to  pay 

that  score, 
With  my  fists;  —  he  still  was  kicking  at  that  frail  and  wormy 

door, — 

Meaning  now  to  wade  in  gore. 

"John,"  I  shouted,  "get  you  thither,  or  I'll  send  you  to  the 
whither 

Of  the  Chinese  bourne  eternal,  with  your  legs  and  bills  in- 
fernal!" 


Drop  the  curtain  for  a  season!    When  I  had  again  my  reason 

On  the  bed  I  still  was  lying,  with  a  doctor  beautifying 

My  black  eyes,  and  I  felt  sore.    Heaven  and  earth,  but  I  was 

sore ! 
And  my  bones  I'm  still  caressing,  for  that  heathen's  awful 

blessing 
In  the  shape  of  wounds  distressing,  in  the  shape  of  marks 

galore, 

Will  stay  with  me  evermore! 


THE    POET. 

And  where  shall  be  my  home,  O  You  who  bade  me  live? 
"My  home,  the  country,  where  I  dwell  affirmative." 

What  friend  will  follow  me,  who  would  be  loved,  and  love? 
"One    who    made   you   and   friendship  —  Friend    all   friends 
above." 

54 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


How  shall  I  teach  mankind,  whose  ways  I  may  not  know? 
"Interpret  thine  own  heart,  O  child  of  joy  and  woe." 

How  shall  earth  nourish  me,  whose  only  skill  is  song? 
"What  treasure  has  the  lark,  for  whom  my  love  is  strong?" 

Of  what  shall  my  heart  sing,  whose  joy  on  earth  is  dead? 
"The  immortal  joys  of  truth  shall  sing  through  thee  instead." 

Will  men  reward  my  soul  with  all  the  love  I  crave? 

"They  will  reward  thy  soul  —  till  sweeter  were  the  grave." 

What  gain  shall  be  for  life  so  bitter,  wan  and  frore? 
"My  peace,  my  love,  Myself,  both  now  and  evermore." 

(A  silence.) 

Make  quick  my  soul  with  Thee.  The  beauty  of  the  truth 

Shall  be  my  goal  and  song. 
"We  twain  as  one  shall  be,  for  my  immortal  youth 

Shall  live  in  soul  and  song." 


THE   HERMIT. 
"It  is  not  good  for  man  to  live  alone." 

The  idle  talk  upon  the  street, 
Forgotten  when  the  hurrying  feet 

Have  left  it  pure  again; 
The  sight  of  those  whose  vileness  shows 
And  all  their  little  good  o'erflows, 

Till  they  are  hid  from  men; 

55 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  senseless  din  and  clamor  loud 
Of  those  who  seek  to  lead  the  crowd 

While  they  themselves  are  blind; 
The  scornful  glance  of  ignorance, 
The  inward  look  of  arrogance, 

Most  pleased  when  most  unkind, — 

All  these  are  but  mere  words  to  me; 
All  these  I  know  of  as  the  sea 

Knows  of  the  moiling  land. 
For  unappeased  where  mortals  fed 
Their  hungry  souls  with  stones  for  bread, 

Long  since,  I  marked  a  rand 

O'er  which  nor  they  nor  I  shall  pass, 
Till  chemic  death  the  wretched  mass 

Strike  through  and  clarify. 
I  live  beyond  the  world's  control! 
I  seek  and  find  the  tranquil  goal 

Of  peace  and  purity. 

All  day  I  breathe  the  mountain  air, 
All  day  I  face  the  firm,  the  fair, 

And  nothing  else  beside. 
I  pause, —  'tis  infinitely  still; 
I  sing,  I  thrill,  and  many  a  rill 

Answers  my  surging  tide. 

I  read  one  book  and  ask  no  more; 
I  envy  no  man,  and  the  lore 

Of  human  love  I've  thrown  — 
Ah,  God,  forgive!    Ah,  God,  I  faint  — 
Faint  with  the  long,  long  years'  restraint! 

Alone,  alone,  alone! 


56 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE    UNPAID    RANSOM. 

One  perfect   day,   while   still  within   God's  heaven, 
His  chiefest  angel  sinned  a  sin  so  black 

He  knew  he  never  quite  could  be  forgiven, 
And  packed  his  trunk  to  seek  earth's  zodiac. 

His  last  good-bye  was  said  and,  ready  quite 
To  leave  the  place  he  once  had  loved  so  well, 

He  turned  to  go,  when  from  the  Wondrous  Light 
There  came  a  Voice,  all  sorrow  to  dispel: 

"Thy  sin  shall  be  forgiven,  forgotten  quite, 
And  thou  shalt  dwell  with  us  as  at  thy  birth, 

If  thou  wilt  perfectly,  in  words  polite, 
Define  the  soul  called  Woman,  on  the  earth." 

The  first  sweet  words  held  Satan  as  in  thrall, 
So  great  the  joy  of  hope  within  his  breast, 

But  at  the  close  he  groaned.    Then,  with  a  drawl 
Sarcastic,  bitter,  said  this  erstwhile  guest, 

"I've  made  a  thousand  worlds  and  made  them  well, 
And  done  a  million  mightier  acts  for  thee, 

But  now  —  Good-bye.    In  heaven  I  cannot  dwell : 
That  deed's  impossible  for  even  me." 


JULY  FOURTH. 

Born  with  the  heritage  of  liberty, 
Untrammelled  liberty,  we  shout  the  name 
And  glorify  the  word  into  that  flame 

By  night  and  cloud  by  day  which  solemnly 

Led  on  the  Israelite.    Beware!    Too  free 
Will  be  the  body  if  the  spirit's  aim 
Is  sunk  within  the  letter,  and  the  shame 

Of  nakedness  strike  down  our  jubilee! 
57 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


One  only  path  leads  up  to  freedom's  height 
Whence  purest  love  sends  purest  wisdom  down, 

And  in  the  name  of  freedom's  holy  light, 

And  for  the  sake  of  the  nation's  holiest  crown 

I  say  that  Bondage  to  the  Truth  will  lead  — 

And  only  this  —  to  Liberty  indeed. 


QUATRAINS. 

The  Change. 

Unconsciously  we   wail  with  life's  first  breath, 
So  dark  and  dure  the  past  throws  down  its  shade; 
But  ripening  years  to  strength  and  peace  persuade 

Our  souls,  and,  consciously,  we  smile  at  death. 

Wisdom. 

He  spelled  the  ground,  knew  flower  and  bird  so  well 
All  students  called  him  lord;  loved  beasts  and  man 
As  beast,  then  sighed,  "I  find  no  God."    Thus  can 

The  foolish  prate,  when  self  proves  God  and  hell. 

Inconsistency. 

Regrettest  thou  that  pearls  on  ocean's  floor 
Lie  useless,  ne'er  to  reach  a  human  mart? 

O  foolish  one,  such  losses  to  deplore, 
When  many  unused  pearls  are  in  thy  heart. 

Unselfishness. 

To  give,  though  we  never  receive, 
To  bless, —  hungry,  tearful,  yet  strong, 

Ah,  thus  may  a  mortal  achieve 
Immortality's  right  out  of  wrong. 

58 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


On  the  Voyage. 

The  best  of  books  are  valueless  and  vain 

Unless  the  readers  know  themselves  the  most, 
As  rudders  serve  the  boats  on  sea  and  coast 

With  wisdom  only  when  controlled  by  brain. 

Doubleness. 
"Thy  will  be  done!"    Breathe  out  no  sigh, 

O  fearful  soul,  when  saying  this, 
Or  some  sweet  joy  His  will  makes  nigh 

May  pass  thee  —  as  unworthy  bliss. 

The  Poet. 
Along  the  rays  of  light  towards  God 

He  hastens,  dreaming  of  their  beauty, 
And  sending  back  that  vast  white  light 

In  rainbow  songs  of  love  and  duty. 

Poetry. 

The  spirit  in  and  forming  all  — 
The  beauty  vaguely  felt  by  souls 
That  seek  the  substance  more  than  goals 

Of  earth  —  the  life  our  lives  forestall. 

The  Sacred  Reserve. 
Not  wholly  may  the  barriers  be  broken 

Betwixt  two  earthly  souls,  however  dear. 
Yet  sorrow  not,  for  this  reserve  is  token 

Of  a  divinity  we  should  revere. 

Silence. 
Imperfect  man  could  use  no  language  now 

More  pure  and  vast  than  this  that  frets  the  soul; 
But  ah!  beyond,  the  silence  will  teach  how 

Perfection  speaks  to  souls  made  pure  and  whole. 

59 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


When   Time    Has   Ceased. 

When  Time  has  ceased  and  back  from  whence  we  sprung 
We  go,  all  men  shall  be  forever  young, 
And  even  here  must  God's  immortal  youth 
Begin  in  all  who  love  immortal  truth. 

Doubt. 

The  Wisdom  mixed  life's  good  and  ill  for  man, 
But  placed  within  his  hand  the  sword  of  Doubt. 

Unused,  that  weapon  answers  not  God's  plan, 
And  used  too  much  His  good  is  driven  out. 

The  Travel  of  the  Soul. 

We  say  of  Birth,  "A  new  life  is  begun;" 
When  Love's  day  dawns,  "Life  now  begins  in  me;" 
When  Death  draws  nigh,  "True  life  begins  to  be;" — 

Lo!   is  there  ever  new  life  to  be  won? 

"Little  Things." 

A  flower,  a  narrow  strip  of  sky,  and  time 
For  her  to  pray, —  no  more,  but  these  sufficed 

To  keep  her  soul  near  God,  though  luring  crime 
Stretched  up,  and  deadly  gold  of  man  enticed. 

Beyond  the  Face. 

The  house  was  poor  and  mean,  without  a  trace 
Of  beauty.    Sin  or  pain  had  made  him  base, 
I  thought,  but  when  I  knew  beyond  the  gate, 
Awestruck  I  said,  "Would  God  I  were  as  great!" 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 

A   VISION. 

(Dedicated,  without  permission,  to  Stephen  Crane.) 

I  saw  a  crimson  mooly  cow 

A-sitting  down  in  a  dormant  golden  meadow. 

"Look  here,"  I  shrieked, 

"What  rattling  madness  possesses  your  infinite  soul, 

To  squat 

(Ungracefully)  in  this  watery  house? 

Dazzling  night  descends  in  four  minutes, 

Night,  mother  of  colds  and  hay-fever, 

And  tomorrow  the  eternal  gates  of  paradise — " 

"Mo-o-o ! "  remarked  the  crimson  mooly  cow, 

And  I  blushed, 

And  rippled  away  in  a  hurry. 

MOTHER    GOOSE,    REVISED. 

By,  O  Baby  Bunting, 
Mama's   gone   a   hunting; 
Gone  to  find  a  richer  man, 
On  the  modern  moral  plan. 

COUPLETS. 

Justice   and   Mercy. 

Unto  thyself  give  justice,  and  just  the  thing  shall  be; 
Unto  the  world  give  mercy, —  true  justice  still  from  thee. 

Freedom. 

"No  bonds  at  all!   Give  me  sweet  freedom,"  cries  the  youth; 
But  freedom  dwells  in  naught  save  bondage  to  the  truth. 

61 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Praise. 

The  praise  of  some  is  manna  from  on  high, 
But  when  all  praise,  'tis  time  for  one  to  die. 

On  Books. 

The  wisest  lore  that  books  have  ever  taught  a  soul 
Thirsting  for  truth  is  this: — Self  is  the  greater  scroll. 

Wealth. 

The  world  may  or  may  not  my  little  wealth  increase, 
But  self  may  always  win  the  eternal  wealth  of  peace. 

Love  to  God  and  Man. 

The  one  who  loveth  men  to  God  may  still  be  blind, 
But  he  who  loveth  God  loves  also  all  mankind. 

Sufficiency. 

With  self  and  God,  a  cave  may  still  be  paradise; 

With  God  and  self  unknown,  the  world  cannot  suffice. 

Unselfishness. 

Work  thou  for  self  alone,  and  life  shall  die  at  death; 
For  others  live,  and  lo!  death  shall  be  God's  own  breath. 

Double   Gain. 

Within  the  Eternal  Heart  I  strove  to  lose  my  soul, 

And  found  myself  the  more  the  more  I  found  The  Whole. 

Narrowness. 

To  love  mankind  and  not  The  Man  without  a  peer, 
Is  like  the  love  of  stars  when  the  sun  is  shining  clear. 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Eternity. 

Eternity's  soft  winds  my  sultry  soul  sweep  o'er, 

As  travelers  feel  sea-breezes  ere  they  reach  the  shore. 

The  Beloved. 

She  smiles,  and  the  smiles  of  the  others  seem  tears; 
She  weeps,  and  their  sorrow  like  laughter  appears. 

The  Love  of  Many  —  and  One. 

Though  love  were  given  me  from  all  beneath  the  sun, 
'Twould  still  be  somewhat  less  than  just  the  love  of  one. 

Two  Women. 

The  one  had  youthful  beauty:   with  years  all  graces  fled; 
The  other  plain  but  loving,  the  years  to  beauty  led. 

Friendships. 

'Twixt  man  and  woman,  friendship  must  be  discreet  and  wise, 
But  friendship  with  the  authors  no  man  may  criticise. 

Books   and   Friends. 

A  book  is  like  a  flower  pressed  with  tender  care; 
A  friend  is  like  a  garden  of  living  flowers  rare. 

A  Puzzle. 

A  trifle  will  persuade  men  to  folly  or  to  sin, 

But  mighty  reasons  only  will  plant  the  good  within. 

The  Intervals. 

Commune  with  nature  often  but  still  with  man  remain: 
Seek  nature  as  a  silence,  mankind  as  language  plain. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Beauty. 

No  dream  of  beauty  shall  remain  unsatisfied; 
The  shadow  proves  the  sun, —  and  think  you  God  has  lied? 

The  Difference. 

We  judge  ourselves  by  that  which  we  profess, 
But  others  by  their  actions  and  their  dress. 

The  Crowded  Isle. 

When  peace  midst  men  departs,  since  all  their  ways  seem  ill, 
Sigh  for  no  desert  isle,  for  one  would  be  there  still. 

A  Test. 

Said  one,  "I  trust  no  man,  for  all  men  are  untrue." 
"Or  false  or  true,"  said  I,  "that  settles  trust  in  you! " 


THE    TWO    GOSPELS. 

Entranced  with  Beauty,  love  made  once  so  wise 
Her  votaries  they  writ  a  gospel  called 
The  Gospel  of  the  Body,  and  enthralled 

Thereby  all  eager  ears,  all  wandering  eyes. 

O  wondrous  Greeks,  who  knew  the  treasuries 
Of  Beauty,  and  our  simple  lore  forestalled, 
Not  since  your  day  —  our  workers  half-appalled, 

Work  idly  —  has  art  seen  such  victories. 

Praise  for  the  Greeks!    And  yet,  a  victory 
Still  incomplete  and  dumb,  ten  thousand  times 
Divine,  and  white  as  earth's  most  perfect  goal;  — 

The  Gospel  of  the  Body,  that  must  die! 

But  deathless  Beauty's  full  and  finer  chimes 
Call  us  to  write  the  Gospel  of  the  Soul. 

64 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  SIGHT  OF  A  SOUL. 

Exalted  heavenward  by  a  night  of  prayer, 
A  saintly  monk  forgot  the  bonds  of  clay 
And  dared  to  ask  of  God  one  glimpse,  one  ray 

Of  light  from  Him  —  the  Infinite!     A  glare 

Of  sudden  awful  glory  filled  the  bare 
And  narrow  cell,  until  the  light  of  day 
Tenfold  increased  had  been  but  twilight  gray, 

And  on  his  face  the  monk  fell  in  despair. 

"O  God,  forgive  me!    I  am  mortal  still, 

And  not  of  heaven:   have  mercy  and  depart." 
The  glory  faded  and  a  Voice  did  thrill 

Each  fibre  of  that  pure  but  human  heart: 
"How  couldst  thou  bear  to  read  a  higher  scroll 
When  thou  hast  feared  a  naked  human  soul?  " 


FOR  ONE  SWEET  DAY. 

Now  just  for  this  sweet  day,  dear  Nature,  let 

Thy  soul  draw  mine  away  from  human  fret 

And  careless  grief,  to  perfect  bliss  with  thee. 

This  day  let  singing  brook  and  murmuring  tree 

Teach  me  thy  secret  strength  and  peace  until 

I  reach  thy  heart  of  youth,  from  out  the  chill 

Of  wanton  human  love,  too  deep  and  cold 

For  simple  ones  who  love  thee.    Dear,  withhold 

No  longer  balm  and  blessing;    purify 

The  one  who  waits  on  this  sweet  day  —  come  nigh 

And  silently  restore  my  youth,  till  frost 

Of  life  and  dark  of  death  are  swiftly  lost 

At  touch  of  thine.    Show  me  thy  face,  I  pray, 

For  this  sweet  day,  for  one  entrancing  day. 

65 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 

HIS   SONG. 

In  Youth. 

"Sweet  dream  of  beauty,  live,  and  be 
My  hope,  my  joy,  till  words  shall  come. 

Thank  God,  the  world  shall  worship  thee 
And  marvel  why  all  men  were  dumb 

Till  my  lips  humbly  set  thee  free." 

In  Manhood. 

"My  song  must  wait:  earth's  many  cares 
Crowd  day  and  night,  and  nearer  things 

Than  singing  songs  thwart  songs  and  prayers. 
When  these  are  past,  sweet  hidden  springs 

Of  peace  and  strength  shall  drown  despairs." 

At  Death. 

"Alas!    the  end,   and  nothing  won. 

My  dream  of  beauty,  fare  thee  well! 
I  hoped  mankind  to  cheer,  but  none 

Of  all  my  thoughts  were  born.    The  knell 
Must  sound  for  song  and  soul  undone." 

The  World. 

"Pass  to  thy  rest,  O  noble  soul, 

As  we  bow  down  before  thy  song. 
The  song  of  songs  was  thine,  whose  whole 

Pure  life  unselfish  fought  the  wrong: 
THY  LIFE,  that  Song  is  on  God's  scroll." 


66 


THOUGHTS  AND  PASTELS. 


3n  f0e  foreBfe  of  barflneBB  cmb  BdbneBB 
te  gfabeB  from  f0e  gforieB 
0uibeB  fo  f^eir  tn-pnife 
of  an  infnite  fot?e. 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THOUGHTS  AND  PASTELS. 

Deep  subjects  and  high  ideals  can  hardly  be  dwelt  on 
too  much,  nor  can  a  thoughtful  presentation  of  them  ever  be 
out  of  place. 

Whoso  thinks  at  all,  speaks  perforce,  and  because  it 
is  as  impossible  for  him  to  keep  silence,  if  he  be  honest,  as 
it  is  for  the  lighted  candle  to  extinguish  itself. 

Some  books  are  flowers  from  the  plant  of  life,  and  no 
thoroughly  honest  man  will  allow  any  bloom  of  his  life  to  be 
seen  by  others  unless  he  is  sure  it  possesses  more  truth  or 
beauty  than  their  opposites. 

In  our  own  work  we  take  as  much  pleasure  in  the 
process  as  in  the  result,  but  in  the  work  of  others  conclusions 
alone  yield  us  the  most  pleasure  and  profit. 

We  can  read  in  a  few  seconds  that  which  it  took  one 
hours,  perhaps,  to  think  out  and  write  to  his  satisfaction; 
ergo,  we  should  rarely  pass  unfavorable  or  even  favorable 
judgment  on  any  matter  before  having  considered  it  care- 
fully. Thought  demands  thought. 

A  true  man  cares  not  whether  his  book  die  or  live 
save  as  he  cares  for  the  death  of  falsehood  and  the  life  of 
truth. 

Correcting  a  bad  habit:    Making  over  a  riding  gown. 

If  winter  comes,  can  spring  be  far  behind?  Certainly: 
about  six  months. 

The  painter's  hardest  task  is  to  draw  money. 

The  censure  that  we  deserve  is  what  hurts. 

Though  the  two  feelings  are  often  confounded,  recogni- 
tion of  truth  is  not  sympathy  with  it. 

We  do  not  fully  understand  ourselves, —  yet  lay  down 
rules  for  others. 

Bondage  to  truth  is  the  only  freedom  known. 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Evil  is  limited,  good  is  unlimited.  We  see  no  end  to  good, 
and  straightway  are  discouraged  because  so  far  from  per- 
fection. Slowly,  slowly,  my  friend. 

A  religious  man  adapts  himself  to  God,  while  a  fanatic 
adapts  God  to  himself. 

The  more  we  love  ourselves  the  more  we  please  God. 
The  less  we  love  ourselves  the  more  we  please  Him.  Both 
statements  are  true. 

By  analyzing  others  we  become  harsh  and  uncharitable. 
By  analyzing  ourselves  we  become  sympathetic,  gentle,  chari- 
table. 

Truly  to  learn  from  experience  the  rules  that  we  draw 
from  our  experience  must  be  applied  to  many  other  things. 

Hate  tends  to  separate  and  to  kill;  love  glories  in  bring- 
ing together  and  uniting  and  harmonizing  all  things. 

Open  to  all  men  is  the  greatest  achievement  of  man  — 
the  grand,  steady  growth  of  soul;  limitless,  infinite  in  possi- 
bilities, endless  in  results,  glorious  beyond  the  world's  worth 
and  the  reason  for  our  existence  here. 

Thoughts  are  more  often  the  centers  of  horizons  than  the 
ultimate  expression  of  facts. 

Sad  indeed  is  it  that  the  debts  put  on  us  by  the  friend- 
ship of  one  are  not  always  payable  to  that  one. 

Noble  ideas  are  man's  compass,  pointing  to  the  north 
pole  of  perfection,  while  friendship  is  a  magnet.  When  the 
magnet  interferes  with  the  accurate  working  of  the  compass, 
that  magnet  must  be  removed  though  the  heart  break. 

Men  value  positiveness  so  highly  that  they  wil1  sooner 
forgive  wrong  judgment  than  doubt. 

Seek  not  perfection.  Let  not  one  fault  in  a  man  estrange 
you  from  him,  or  you  will  be  unworthy  of  friendship  and 
alone  all  through  life. 


70 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Love  can  know  no  greater  bitterness  than  the  knowledge 
that  its  object  is  in  some  grave  way  unworthy  of  love.  Yet 
true  love,  under  some  circumstances,  will  but  cling  the  closer 
to  its  object. 

Even  as  no  one  man  is  perfectly  representative  of  a 
nation,  so  no  one  friend  answers  to  all  we  feel  when  think- 
ing of  friendship.  Yet  friends  are  good! 

Instinct,  inclination,  conscience  and  will  combined  can- 
not keep  one  in  the  right  path;  knowledge  must  be  sought 
and  applied,  and  that  continually. 

The  majority  of  people  hate  the  sense  of  responsibility; 
it  is  well  for  readers  that  the  majority  of  writers  do  not 
belong  to  that  class. 

He  who  never  exaggerates  is  incapable  of  speaking  the 
truth.  But  equally  unwise  and  dangerous  is  he  who  always 
exaggerates.  The  world  is  neither  a  level  plain  nor  a  level 
mountain. 

If  you  would  be  a  ruler  of  men,  be  ruled  yourself  abso- 
lutely by  some  great  idea.  Because:  The  world  wouldn't 
bid  more  than  two  cents  for  your  naked  ego,  but  for  a  man 
plus  an  idea  it  would  very  likely  give  as  much  as  —  five. 

We  give  explanations  to  those  only  who  do  not  ask  them. 

Absolute  evil  and  absolute  virtue  alike  acknowledge  no 
law. 

Human  nature  is  the  highest  and  lowest,  saddest  and 
happiest,  foolishest  and  wisest,  crudest  and  kindest,  simplest 
and  most  composite,  purest  and  most  corrupt,  most  despond- 
ent and  hopeful,  most  selfish  and  unselfish,  most  loving  and 
hateful;  yes,  the  most  devilish  as  well  as  the  divinest,  thing 
on  the  face  of  the  earth.  For  wondrous  and  awful  variety, 
and  this  in  even  one  individual,  no  mixture  of  the  chemist 
can  equal  human  nature. 

Words  leak.  Yet,  somehow,  their  spirit  enters  the  cup 
open  to  receive  it. 


71 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


A  bad  conscience  may  be  the  cause  of  insomnia,  but  often 
it  is  the  bad  conscience  of  the  men  and  women  who  wrong 
us  that  keeps  us  awake. 

More  likely  is  it  that  small  love  will  bring  great  love 
down  to  its  own  level  than  that  the  large  love  will  make  the 
small  increase. 

Every  person  is  a  fool  in  some  particular.  Therefore, 
strike  gently  at  the  others,  my  friend. 

The  kind-hearted  man  feels  bitterly  the  difficulty  of 
excusing  himself  without  accusing  others. 

Thoughts  unexpressed  are  only  half  possessed. 

The  best  judge  of  human  nature  at  sight  may  be  all  at 
sea  when  he  attempts  to  estimate  people  of  another  nation- 
ality. 

A  friend,  a  good  man,  told  me  that  he  had  lost  all  the 
records  of  his  business — copies  of  letters,  notes  worth  thou- 
sands of  dollars,  etc. — in  a  fire.  I  told  him  that  the  Record- 
ing Angel  will  never  suffer  in  like  manner.  But  to  some  men 
this  would  be  small  consolation. 

Don't  jest  with  strangers.  Nine  times  out  of  ten  they 
will  misunderstand  you. 

Emphasis  in  the  wrong  place  creates  the  weakness  it 
would  avoid. 

The  reason  that  some  men  cannot  keep  their  heads  above 
water  is  that  they  are  helping  others  to  do  so. 

Faith:    Riches  we  cannot  hide,  exhibit  nor  give  away. 

Contempt:  In  an  inferior,  jealousy;  in  a  superior,  weak- 
ness. 

Words:   The  shadows  of  our  thoughts. 

Vices:    The  faults  of  our  ancestors. 

Socialism:    Dividing  with  the  other  fellow. 

Anarchy:   Compelling  the  other  fellow  to  divide  with  us. 

Thought  is  practical  only  when  it  keeps  practical  things 
in  subjection. 


72 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


If  flowers  are  the  language  of  angels,  music  is  the 
language  of  God. 

Our  comforts  render  us  complacent,  lazy;  our  sorrows 
keep  us  painfully  awake  and  also  force  comforts  to  min- 
ister strength. 

Hard  it  is  to  feel  that  what  we  know  would  be  our 
best  thoughts  we  cannot  express  to  even  ourselves. 

Strife  for  truth  is  a  kind  of  praise  to  God. 

He  who  teaches  men  to  think  does  them  a  nobler  ser- 
vice than  he  who  teaches  them  all  other  things  combined. 

Man  is  the  soul  of  nature,  and  each  man  is  to  him- 
self the  soul  of  nature.  That  is,  if  he  be  noble  and  love 
nature  he  will  see  in  her  just  so  much  of  beauty  and  worth 
as  he  is,  and  if  he  be  mean  himself  he  will  care  little  for  her 
and  see  hardly  a  shadow  of  her  beauty. 

The  law  of  compensation  is  spiritually  what  the  law 
of  conservation  of  energy  is  materially.  No  act  in  either 
world  ends  with  the  act  itself. 

The  devil  hates  solitude. 

When  we  look  back  on  ourselves  as  we  were  one  year 
ago  we  see  wherein  we  were  foolish  and  how  often  we 
committed  evil.  Let  us  be  humble  at  the  present  time,  for  in 
a  year  from  now  we  shall  again  reach  the  same  conclusion. 

Paradoxical  but  true:  the  greater  the  heart  the  less 
room  in  it  for  evil. 

Wouldst  thou  have  thy  burdens  lightened?  Help  thy 
brother  in  his  need  and  tenfold  shall  it  be  returned  thee. 

Is  it  the  ambition  of  thy  life  to  greatly  bless  thy 
fellow-men?  This  may  be  more  easily  accomplished,  per- 
haps, than  thou  thinkest.  Begin  with  thyself,  live  purely, 
nobly,  unselfishly,  and  so  far  as  this  is  done  thy  purpose 
is  fruitioned.  Do  more  if  thou  canst,  but  to  govern  one  king- 
dom is  more  than  most  men  do. 


73 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Most  of  the  evil  wrought  in  the  world  is  the  result 
of  thoughtlessness,  not  premeditation,  but  it  is  none  the  less 
an  evil,  and,  seeing  it  could  have  been  prevented,  a  crime. 

All  knowledge  is  good  in  itself,  but  unless  a  man  has 
omnipotent  strength  he  had  better  let  some  of  it  alone  till  he 
has. 

When  we  cannot  at  the  same  time  be  true  to  our- 
selves and  true  to  others  we  must  be  true  to  ourselves.  Right 
may  fall  back  one  step  in  our  direction  but  it  gains  two  in 
another. 

To  tire  of  a  thing  is  no  sign  of  inconstancy;  rather 
is  it  the  reverse,  as  it  may  show  we  are  true  to  a  higher 
principle. 

What  does  originality  consist  in  except  in  appro- 
priating and  using  to  an  unusual  and  striking  advantage  facts 
and  observations  which  are  public  property?  When  comes  a 
mind  great  enough  to  properly  appreciate  and  present  com- 
mon occurrences  —  and  all  occurrences  are  common  —  then 
we  say:  Behold  a  genius! 

Gain  first  God's  approval,  then  thine  own,  setting 
thy  small  watch  by  the  great  Regulator,  and  let  the  opinion  of 
the  world  count  for  naught.  Do  right;  if  the  world  approve, 
well;  if  not,  thou  losest  but  a  trifle. 

Recognition  of  truth  is  not  sympathy  with  truth, 
although  often  confounded  with  it. 

Men  of  great  attainments  receive  too  much  praise, 
while  men  of  small  calibre,  who  achieve,  in  consequence, 
little,  do  not  receive  enough  praise,  though  they  may  have 
exerted  more  strength  proportionately. 

To  the  wise  man  no  thing  is  strange,  because  every 
thing  is  strange. 

We  speak  of  "great  men";  is  this  to  our  credit? 
Yes,  and  No.  Yes,  because  we  ought  to  recognize  a  man's 
natural  and  acquired  qualities,  and  No,  because  we  ought  to 
be  his  equal  in  striving  for  Truth,  in  which  alone  true  great- 
ness consists. 

74 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Steadily  and  more  clearly  do  I  see  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  but  little  things.  These  little  things, 
however,  acquire  a  startling  significance  when  viewed  in 
this  light. 

When  a  man  works -so  much  that  he  has  no  time  or 
room  for  pride  he  receives  more  honor  from  others  than  he 
could  ever  give  himself. 

Most  of  us  are  not  strong  enough  to  be  gentle;  we 
are  weak,  and  attempt  to  conceal  it  by  indifference  and  rude- 
ness. 

Man  is  a  spirit  consisting  of  two  principles,  and  the 
stage  beyond  the  period  of  earthly  existence  is  the  continuing 
and  perfecting  of  the  principle  which  predominated  here. 
Which  rules  thee  the  more,  Good  or  Evil? 

The  best  —  noblest  —  diplomacy  is   to   have   none. 

In  wanting  to  be  loved,  better  give  love  to  an  hun- 
dred persons  who  do  not  love  thee  than  wait  for  some  one 
to  love  thee  first. 

True  sorrow  for  sin  indicates  such  advance  that  the 
soul  will  not  again  fall  as  readily  into  it. 

The  soul  should  not,  and  in  thinking  persons  does 
not,  find  any  thing  purely  negative.  Each  thing  assists  or 
retards  progress. 

As  the  fact  of  the  earth's  moving  can  be  proved 
only  by  ar  appeal  to  reason,  so  the  fact  of  future  life  can  be 
proved  only  by  an  appeal  to  intuition,  and  not,  in  either  case, 
by  the  senaes. 

Almost  every  man  is  honestly  anxious  for  himself 
to  develop,  yet  seems  naturally  to  think  of  every  one  else 
as  .stationary. 

We  do  not  fully  understand  ourselves,  yet  lay  down 
rules  for  the  conduct  of  others! 

If  each  man  had  half  as  much  charity  for  the  world 
in  general  as  he  has  for  himself,  strife  of  all  kinds  would 
cease. 

75 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


If  we  are  strong  and  wish  it,  no  thing  can  injure 
us  and  each  thing  will  do  us  good. 

Many  people  pray  too  much  in  words;  the  best 
prayer,  the  only  true  prayer  is  work. 

The  very  fact  that  we  cannot  always  decide  a  point 
proves  our  indefinite  and  immense  capabilities,  and  should 
be  the  source  of  an  awful  joy.  Did  we  feel  a  limit  in  think- 
ing we  should  have  to  decide  our  powers  mortal. 

Set  that  man  down  as  one  who  looks  on  death  as 
the  end  of  all,  who  always  finds  language  adequate  to  express 
his  feelings. 

Better  be  wholly  unsuccessful  in  a  right  course  than 
successful  in  a  wrong  one. 

While  genius  has  little  regard  for  common-sense, 
a  lack  of  common-sense  does  not  necessarily  indicate  genius. 

Of  ourself  we  tell  only  the  good;  of  our  neighbors 
perhaps  the  good,  but  certainly  the  bad. 

To  expect  love  to  be  perfectly  satisfied  with  any- 
thing less  than  love  in  return,  is  as  futile  as  expecting  a 
woman's  fan  to  create  a  vacuum  in  the  open  air. 

Our  capacity  for  learning  from  others  is  propor- 
tioned to  our  capacity  for  putting  ourself  in  their  place. 

People  who  always  want  a  reason  for  everything 
resemble  the  man  who  would  demand  proof  of  the  statement 
that  the  shortest  line  between  two  points  is  a  straight  line. 

Strange,  that  in  things  temporal  we  desire  to  pos- 
sess others'  goods,  or  at  least  goods  like  others',  but  in  things 
spiritual  think  our  own  attainments  the  best!  It  shows  how 
much  more  strongly  we  are  affected  through  the  senses  than 
through  the  soul. 

If  we  are  dissatisfied  with  our  attainments  there  is 
hope  for  us.  Then  so  long  as  dissatisfacton  exists  we  should 
be  satisfied. 

After  all,  viewed  aright,  nothing  can  be  too  much 
trouble  in  itself. 

76 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


One  reason  why  so  many  persons  feel  a  great  reserve 
towards  others  is  that  the  disagreeables  are  on  the  surface, 
and  what  we  wish  to  say  does  not  harmonize  with  the 
externals. 

The  law  of  contrast  is  stronger  than  the  law  of 
harmony.  This  is  one  of  the  reasons  why  discords  are  some- 
times written  in  music,  "that  harmony  should  be  prized." 

The  originality  which  takes  a  form  unwise  in  itself 
is  better  than  a  slavish  conformity  to  society,  which  would 
mold  all  into  a  dead  life.  The  only  trouble  lies  in  the  fact 
that  the  originality  takes  a  wrong  form. 

The  habit  of  questioning  everything,  which  by  so 
many  is  considered  dangerous  to  purity,  is  absolutely  neces- 
sary; the  only  danger  is  from  false  judgment. 

However  much  we  may  think  our  ideal  man  is  the 
combination  of  the  qualities  most  nearly  perfect  of  all  our 
acquaintances,  he  is  most  nearly  like  ourself. 

God's  curse  on  man  was  not  that  he  must  labor,  but  that 
the  labor  necessary  to  existence  should  antagonize  the  soul 
and  hinder  its  development.  We  must  eat  before  we  think. 
Yet  with  watchfulness  this  very  curse  may  be  transmuted 
into  a  blessing. 

The  philosopher  sees  Truth,  and  sees  it  in  its  barest 
form;  the  poet  sees  also  the  beauty  of  Truth. 

Troubles  and  griefs  are  the  rain-storms  of  the  soul. 

The  wicked  man  values  his  reputation,  not  his  charac- 
ter, while  the  righteous  man  cares  for  his  character  and  but 
very  little  for  his  reputation. 

Bondage  to  Truth  is  the  only  freedom  known. 

Perfect  knowledge  of  one  natural  object,  one  blade 
of  grass  for  instance,  would  explain  all  earthly  things. 

We   demand  sympathy,  but  give  only  pity. 

It  is  better  to  decide,  be  the  decision  right  or  wrong, 
than  to  be  continually  wavering. 


77 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


And  still,  better  waver  than  decide  and  then  never 
be  willing  to  change. 

He  who  cannot  change  his  opinions  is  a  fool;  he  who 
will  not  change  them  is  a  knave. 

Age  petrifies  most  people  as  silica  hardens  wood,  but 
a  few  resemble  the  evergreen,  which  is  larger  and  more 
symmetrical  in  old  age  than  in  youth. 

Love  is  the  greatest  developer  of  the  soul;  hence 
love  is  the  end,  the  object,  of  our  present  existence. 

For  thinking  people  condensed  information  is  best, 
but  most  people  do  not  think  for  themselves,  hence  the  im- 
mense amount  of  mental  p'bulum.  The  daily  paper  is  as 
much  a  curse  as  a  blessing. 

"Out  of  sight,  out  of  mind;"  if  this  were  quite  true, 
how  happy  we  might  be! 

Look  on  the  worst  side  of  the  past,  and  the  best  side 
of  the  future. 

We  can  best  impress  ourselves  on  others  by  our 
love.  Wisdom  repels  at  first,  but  love  attracts,  and  opens  the 
way  for  wisdom.  Hence,  if  you  would  do  the  most  good, 
love. 

If  we  be  God's  children,  it  is  impossible,  in  the  full 
sense  of  that  word,  for  Him  to  forsake  us:  can  He  forsake 
Himself? 

I  hold  that  idea  to  be  a  true  one,  that  was  held  in 
former  times  more  extensively  than  now,  that  each  man  is 
an  actual  part  of  God.  Like  all  best  things  it  can  be  per- 
verted into  a  most  serious  evil,  but  if  I  believe  it  to  be  true, 
I  may  say  so.  It  is  an  awful  thought.  It  throws  a  light  on 
the  problem  of  our  existence,  and  makes  our  lives  more  sub- 
lime than  ever. 

Evil  is  limited;  good  is  unlimited.  We  see  no  end  to 
good,  and  straightway  are  discouraged  because  we  are  so  far 
from  perfection. 

Silence  is  Perfection;    language  and  all  other  material 

78 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


things  are  imperfect  and  very  annoying  at  times,  but  we 
think  of  Silence  and  rejoice.  I  sometimes  think  God,  Heaven, 
Eternity,  all  dwell  in  Silence. 

There  is  really  no  "reward"  and  "punishment"  for 
good  and  evil.  Remorse  for  sin,  which  we  call  "punishment," 
is  a  part  of  sin,  its  culmination,  and  good  finds  Heaven  to  be 
simply  the  perfection  of  itself. 

Self-denial  is  the  purest  form  of  selfishness. 

Few  people  can  have  what  they  want  in  the  material 
world,  but  in  the  realm  of  the  mind  men  can  be  pretty  nearly 
what  they  WILL  to  be. 

We  are  aware,  by  its  effects,  of  a  power  not  con- 
nected with  the  senses.  It  appeals  to  the  soul  from  all 
material  objects,  from  some  more  strongly  than  from  others, 
but  it  eludes  our  comprehension  and  even  grasp;  we  cannot 
define  it.  We  are  perhaps  reading  a  book  and  feel  strongly 
drawn  to  take  up  some  other  book  unread  before,  when,  lo! 
this  last  passage  is  a  companion  to  or  climax  of  the  first. 
We  feel  a  presence  in  the  room,  and  may  perhaps  know  whom 
it  is,  yet  we  learned  it  not  through  the  five  senses.  Who  shall 
instruct  us  in  this  language,  this  intuition  of  the  spirit? 

The  souls  of  mankind  combined  would  not  make  a  God. 

Thoughtlessness  is  the  most  extreme  selfishness  in 
its  relation  to  others,  and  the  worst  possible  evil  in  its  rela- 
tion to  ourself. 

Our  highest  moments  are  our  truest.  We  must  judge  our- 
selves by  such  moments,  and  measure  our  acts  and  attain- 
ments by  their  height  and  not  by  the  low  standard  of  com- 
mon hours. 

If  every  man  were  so  good  as  in  his  heart  he  believes 
himself  to  be,  five  men  would  fully  supply  the  world. 

Woe  betide  a  man  if  in  his  care  for  his  house  he 
starve  the  master  of  the  house!  We  must  eat  and  take  care 
of  the  body  in  many  ways,  but  most  men  end  with  that,  for- 
getting the  soul. 

79 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


One's  habitual  thoughts  react  on  the  will  which  formed 
them,  each  strengthening  the  other.  Do  we  like  to  think? 
Good.  Are  our  thoughts  pure  and  beautiful?  Better.  And  if 
they  fruition  into  life,  best  of  all,  and  the  reason  why  we  have 
the  thinking  faculty. 

Concentration  of  thought  on  one  idea  at  a  time, 
long  continued,  it  may  be,  is  the  secret  of  most  success,  most 
knowledge,  and  while  we  are  about  it  why  not  dwell  on 
worthy  objects?  Most  men  drift  without  aim;  grasp  the  oars 
and  get  somewhere! 

Marriage,  while  giving  one  person  to  the  other,  makes 
each  more  capable  of  blessing  others.  Thus  while  in  a  form 
selfish,  marriage  is  still  more  unselfish. 

The  greatest  thinker  is  he  who  can  tell  us  most  about 
ourself. 

The  older  the  body  the  younger  —  purer  —  the  soul 
should  be. 

Strike  your  colors  to  no  man.  You,  too,  are  a  man, 
and  must  live  originally,  for  yourself  and  out  of  yourself. 

A  religious  man  adapts  himself  to  God,  while  a  fanatic 
adapts  God  to  himself. 

All  known  things  may  be  classed  under  four  names: 
materially,  dust  and  soul;  spiritually,  good  and  evil. 

Geniuses  are  they  who  understand  the  art  of  expres- 
sion, first  to  themselves,  then  outwardly.  They  utter  what 
others  only  feel. 

The  highest  practicality  is  the  materialization  of  ideality. 

The  pessimist  says,  There  is  a  valley  for  every  hill; 
the  optimist  says,  There  is  a  hill  for  every  valley. 

When  souls  shall  be  able  to  communicate  with  each 
other  by  other  means  than  the  body,  they  will  give  and 
receive  perfection,  they  will  know  and  will  be  at  peace  simply 
through  existing. 

Soul  is  supreme  and  should  be  indifferent  to  every 
conceivable  thing  but  itself.  This  is  why  great  men  so  often 

80 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


shock  us  by  their  disregard  of  bodily  and  social  laws;  but 
our  fault  it  is,  not  theirs. 

A  man,  like  a  tree,  should  grow  heavenward  in  defiance 
of  all  material  laws:  let  him  but  say,  I  am  superior,  and  he 
is  superior. 

The  only  result  of  staring  into  the  mystery  of  human 
life  is  to  bring  tears  to  the  eyes,  tears  of  pain  to  some  and 
of  joy  to  others. 

A  soul,  perfection,  can  never  express  itself  perfectly 
through  the  medium  it  has  at  present,  an  imperfect  body. 

While  we  live  in  the  past  and  the  future,  we  possess 
only  the  past. 

As  in  music  one  continued  discord  ruins  the  entire  piece, 
so  one  continued  sin  may  ruin  a  man's  whole  life. 

Praise  tends  to  lower  some  men's  standard,  censure 
always  strengthens. 

Music  is  the  expression  of  silence.  Music,  of  all 
things  which  appeal  to  the  senses,  is  a  link  and  the  only 
link  between  heaven  and  earth.  It  appeals  to  the  senses,  it 
is  true,  but  is  the  purest,  least  earthly,  the  one  perfect  thing, 
of  all  things  which  do  so  appeal. 

There  are  three  uses  of  love.  First,  the  prostitu- 
tion of  love  into  sexual  passion,  which  is  —  what  we  call  — 
beastly.  Second,  the  degradation  of  love,  into  rinding  in 
man  the  end  of  love.  The  third  use  of  love,  which  alone  is 
right,  is  the  thought  of  love  as  Perfection  —  another  word 
for  God  —  each  man  and,  if  you  wish,  each  living  object, 
being  but  a  fragment.  Hence,  love  is  reverential.  Also,  the 
truest  love  always  has  an  element  of  dissatisfaction  in  it, 
cannot  contain  itself  with  less  than  the  whole. 

If  life  be  hard,  it  is  so  that  we  may  learn  how  to  make 
it  easy. 

Because  things  in  this  world  are  wholly  relative,  it 
is  sometimes  true  that  an  act  which  is  wrong  to  one  man  is 
right  to  another. 

81 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Love  must  be  active  or  it  will  die. 

Perfection  is  the  marriage  of  matter  and  mind. 
Or,  it  is  when  the  attainments  of  matter  equal  the  attainments 
of  mind,  or  when  ability  equals  thought. 

If  we  were  able  to  see  with  the  bodily  eye  a  true 
man,  that  is,  the  spirit,  as,  say,  Emerson,  the  sight  would 
dazzle  us.  We  could  not  see  even  so  small  a  part  of  God 
without  trembling. 

The  isolation  of  a  great  mind  must  be  one  of  the 
worst  concomitants  of  genius. 

The  more  we  love  a  person,  the  less,  as  a  rule,  we 
feel  like  talking  when  in  his  presence.  The  very  conscious- 
ness of  being  near  him  is  all-sufficient. 

What  more  may  man  ask  than  to  be  literally  a  child  of 
God? 

If  he  who  criticises  does  not  benefit  others  or  him- 
self, he  is  doing  no  good,  but  is  "creation's  blot,  creation's 
blank." 

Slang  is  dethroned  poetry. 

All  excel  in  one  or  two  good  traits;  he  who  excels  in 
most  is  the  great  man. 

Every  man  owes  the  world  all  the  nobility  of  charac- 
ter it  is  possible  for  him  to  become  possessed  of.  One 
of  the  few  things  wherein  man  underestimates  himself  is  his 
influence  on  others.  The  world  is  more  strongly  affected  by 
him  than  he  thinks. 

Speak  nothing  but  good  of  the  dead;  we  know  enough 
evil  of  the  living. 

To  be  never  discouraged  is  not  always  a  sign  of  wisdom. 

God  is  the  author  of  the  two  grandest  poems  ever 
written,  Woman,  and  Nature. 

It  is  our  bounden  duty  to  ennoble  ourselves  and  others. 
This  demands  work,  but  neglect  is  a  crime. 

God  never  allows  an  unnecessary  person;  every 
living  human  being  is  essential  to  creation.  He  has  a  com- 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


mission  to  fulfil,  and  just  damnation  awaits  the  man  who  runs 
away  or  wilfully  neglects  his  work. 

Hope  is  frequently  inverted  experience. 

Each  thing  in  the  material  world  is  symbolic.  The 
primary  reason  for  its  existence  is  that  it  may  bless  the  soul 
of  man. 

To  have  our  good  acts  evil  spoken  of  is  better  than 
to  have  our  bad  acts  well  spoken  of. 

Let  fancy  fly,  but  judgment  should  walk. 

Almost  all  men  believe  that  right  shall  ultimately 
triumph,  but  why  do  they  not  act  up  to  this  conviction?  Be- 
cause they  are  either  thoughtless  or  selfish. 

The  world  may  owe  you  a  living,  but  the  nobility 
that  you  owe  the  world  is  a  greater  debt  and  will  forbid  you 
taking  your  due. 

More  great  poems  are  lived  than  written. 

The  man  who  works  not  with  either  body  or  brain 
is  a  curse.  He  is  a  very  devil,  robbing  himself,  mankind,  and 
God. 

The  human  heart  must  overflow  when  great  grief 
or  joy  comes,  or  else,  perhaps  unconsciously,  suffer  physically. 

The  mysterious  is  always  the  most  fascinating. 

Most  people  can  bear  blame  from  enemies,  but  few 
can  withstand  flattery  from  friends. 

Love  is  a  paradox:  beginning  with  regard  for  one,  it 
is  not  diminished  but  greatly  increased  by  being  allowed  to 
overflow  on  others. 

With  the  exception  of  love,  its  mother,  nothing  ter- 
restrial satisfies  a  man  so  completely  as  to  have  a  woman 
whom  he  likes  jealous  of  him! 

A  verbal  promise  is  as  binding  morally  as  a  written 
promise  is  legally. 

Make  a  distinction  between  inherited  and  acquired 
nobility.  The  one  we  deserve  no  credit  for,  the  other  we 
deserve  all  credit  for. 

83 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Unapplied  wisdom  is  like  pearls  in  the  sea. 

No  act  is  negative;    it  is  either  good  or  bad. 

The  rule,  Silence  is  golden,  is  generally  true,  but 
there  are  many  times  when  silence  is  dishonoring. 

Throughout  Nature,  as  we  know  her,  nothing  is 
lost:  apparently  destroyed,  the  object  has  simply  assumed 
another  form.  So  it  is  in  the  moral  world:  good  deeds,  bad 
words,  all  leave  ineffaceable  impressions. 

All  persons  displease  me  in  some  way;  shall  I, 
therefore,  refuse  to  love  them?  Nay;  I  should  rather  exert 
myself  to  love  them  so  much  for  the  good  that  is  in  them 
that  my  thoughts  of  their  good  qualities  shall  outweigh  my 
thoughts  of  their  bad  ones. 

The  highest  joys  are  inseparable  from  the  greatest 
griefs,  and  whether  or  no  both  shall  affect  us  for  good  de- 
pends on  ourself. 

He  who  never  believes  the  simple  statements  of 
others  cannot  expect  to  be  ever  believed  himself. 

The  heart  that  beats  strongest  for  suffering  man 
is  the  heart  best  capable  of  loving  God. 

Wisdom  is  one  of  the  few  good  things  which  some- 
times comes  to  man  unsought. 

True  greatness  is  tolerant  of  others'  scrutiny;  the 
mean  soul  cannot  bear  investigation. 

A  man  proud  without  reason  is  a  most  detestable 
creature;  proud  with  reason  he  is  allowable,  but  negative. 

The  man  who  is  humble  enough  to  acknowledge 
that  others'  opinions  are  sometimes  better  than  his  own  is 
wise  enough  to  be  seldom  wrong. 

Good  blesses  the  doer  of  it  more  than  the  receiver. 

When  nobody  has  anything  to  say  against  me,  let 
me  die! 

The  soul's  instinct  must  be  the  decider  of  what  is 
right  and  what  is  wrong,  but  as  every  soul  is  more  or  less 
imperfect,  it  follows  that  men  will  always  differ  in  their 

84 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


judgment.  We  have  no  absolute  standard  of  perfection,  or, 
rather,  we  are  not  able  to  either  see  perfection  or  agree  on  a 
definition  of  it. 

The  same  qualities  precisely  are  in  all  men,  but  not  in 
equal  proportions. 

Men  break  promises  made  to  a  multitude  when  they 
keep  those  made  to  one  person,  but  in  other  matters 
they  honor  the  mass  even  when  they  despise  every  individual 
man  in  it. 

Probably  thought  is  as  substantial  to  a  spirit  as 
material  things  are  to  the  body. 

Our  joys  may  cease  and  we  are^  sad  for  a  time;  but 
when  hope  ceases  neither  the  past  nor  the  present  can 
please  us. 

It  should  be  our  aim  not  to  keep  the  Sabbath  holier 
than  the  other  days,  but  to  make  all  the  days  as  holy  as  the 
Sabbath. 

Paralysis  of  the  soul  is  the  worst  disease  on  earth, 
and  the  most  common. 

Love  curves  on  itself  and  rewards  the  lover  more 
than  the  beloved. 

Society  and  solitude  are  of  equal  necessity.  In 
society  we  receive:  in  solitude  we  digest.  But  ah,  blessed 
are  we  if  in  solitude  we  can  both  receive  and  digest. 

Despair  is  the  illegitimate  child  of  Misfortune  and 
Weakness. 

Our  life  is  a  cloud,  hiding  the  sky  of  eternity. 

When  truths  seem  not  to  harmonize  be  sure  a  link, 
a  third  truth,  connecting  the  two  others,  is  missing.  Truths 
must  necessarily  harmonize,  but  our  imperfect  knowledge 
raises  confusion. 

Which  is  harder,  to  see  the  evil  in  the  persons  we 
like,  or  to  see  the  good  in  those  we  do  not  like? 

Life  forms  the  body, —  and  then  is  subject  to  it! 


85 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


If  we  were  as  afraid  of  being  wrong  as  we  are  of 
being  serious,  we  would  be  so  serious  that  we  would  not  be 
so  often  wrong. 

Eternity  is  not  prolonged  time,  but  a  state. 

The  wise  man  knows  the  fool  for  a  fool,  but  the 
fool  can  never  know  the  wise  man  for  a  wise  man,  or  he 
would  be  wise  himself.  The  greater  may  include  the  less  and 
still  be  great,  but  the  part  is  never  more  than  a  part. 

Each  man  is  necessarily  the  standard,  in  one  sense, 
by  which  he  measures  all  else,  both  man  and  matter. 

If  we  did  as  well  as  we  know,  we  would  soon  be  perfect. 

Progress  self-evidently  involves  life,  and  life  is,  we 
may  say,  the  growing  principle.  Now  bodily  life  of  all 
kinds  feeds  on  material  lower  than  itself,  but  soul-life  feeds 
on  principles,  or  life,  higher  than  itself. 

Many  persons'  externals  are  more  beautiful  than 
they  themselves,  as,  face  and  manners,  but  persons  inwardly 
beautiful  are  usually  beautiful  in  externals  also. 

The  peace  of  life  is  a  totally  different  thing  from 
the  peace  of  death. 

'  Thinig£  which  we  absolutely  know  but  which,  from 
the  nature  of  the  case,  are  not  provable  to  others  and  which 
we  will  not  explain,  most  people  will  neither  believe  nor  for- 
give us  for  affirming. 

The  highest  compliment  that  can  be  paid  to  a  woman 
is  to  treat  her  as  a  man  should  be  treated;  that  is,  frankly 
and  honestly,  with  the  utmost  courtesy  and  purity. 

We  judge  ourselves  by  what  we  do,  that  is,  the 
good;  we  judge  others  by  their  omission  of  the  good,  that  is, 
their  sins. 

The  hypocrite  is  never  so  near  exposure  as  when 
his  righteousness  is  called  into  question;  no  one  shall  ques- 
tion his  righteousness. 

The  worst  form  of  conceit  is  that  springing  from  humility. 


86 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  pain  in  ecstasy  of  feeling  is  caused  by  the  in- 
ability of  the  body  to  keep  pace  with  the  unusual  demands 
of  the  soul. 

Senses,  or  the  sense,  may  be  right,  spirit  is  right. 
Sense  involves  a  mixture  of  evil  with  good;  spirit  is  wholly 
pure. 

The  worst  hunger  is  that  of  the  heart,  for  love:  thd 
worst  satiety  is  that  of  the  heart,  being  obliged,  through  not 
finding  any  one  to  love,  to  expend  all  its  love-wealth  on  itself. 

I  wish  to  fear  nothing  that  I  know  of  but  fear. 

Instinct  is  the  sun,  reason  the  moon. 

The  fear  of  intruding  is  often  a  great  discourtesy: 
friends  must  not  act  like  acquaintances. 

Reason  is  confined  to  the  earth,  spirit,  or  intuition, 
is  unconfined. 

We  should  prepare  for  death?  Not  so:  we  should 
prepare  for  something  more  solemn — Life. 

Irreverence  for  the  name  of  God  is  by  no  means  the 
only  form  of  profanity.  Any  good  thing, — person,  object,  or 
idea,  may  be  profaned. 

There  are  two  classes  of  people  to  whom  we  reveal 
ourselves;  our  friends,  because  they  understand  us,  and  a 
certain  other  class  because — they  are  stupid. 

The  more  we  love  ourselves  the  more  we  please 
God:  The  less  we  love  ourselves  the  more  we  please  God. 
Both  these  statements  are  true. 

Perfect  freedom  of  soul  can  never  be  obtained  with- 
out first  conforming  perfectly  to  the  natural  needs  of  the 
body. 

The  best  friend  distrusts  himself  more  than  he  does 
his  friend. 

If  we  with  all  the  heart  desired  perfection,  we 
should  be  perfect.  The  perfect  desire  and  the  attainment  are 
identical. 

"Pain  is  a  sign  of  life,"  but  life  need  not  be  a  sign  of  pain. 

87 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Working  as  a  fragment  of  the  whole,  a  man  may 
honorably  accept  any  aid  offered.  Working  selfishly,  to  ac- 
cept any  aid  is  dishonorable. 

Labor  may  be  dignified,  but  some  men  are  com- 
pelled to  be  decidedly  undignified  in  doing  it. 

For  a  person  who  has  never  loved  to  try  to  under- 
stand it  is  like  a  blind  person  endeavoring  to  judge  of  the 
merits  of  a  picture.  He  may  handle  it,  and  possibly  gain 
some  little  impression  of  it  through  the  finger  tips,  but—! 

Excess  of  hope  is  despair. 

Intuition  compels,  reason  advises. 

Men  reverence  the  dead  more  than  the  living,  and 
thus  prove  themselves  fools. 

The  real  basis  of  all  love,  all  friendship,  all  good-will,  is 
reverence. 

The  strength  as  well  as  the  difficulty  of  renouncing 
is  exactly  proportioned  to  the  intensity  of  the  feeling  present, 
if  we  but  knew  it. 

Affectation  is  the  desire  to  appear  different  from 
what  we  are,  but  it  is  sometimes  confused  with  the  desire  to 
develop  and  improve  ourselves. 

Abstract  truth  has  little  influence  over  us;  to  draw 
us  strongly  it  must  be  connected  with  something  earthly. 

The  more  we  lean  on  others  the  more  capable  we 
are  of  strengthening  others. 

"The  world  is  a  chaos;  life  is  a  puzzle  and  a  farce;" 
granted  for  the  sake  of  the  argument:  perhaps  it  is  thy  sole 
business  to  bring  some  order  into  the  world,  and  to  solve 
life  and  make  it  serious  by  the  dignity  of  thy  actions. 

Is  the  darkness  of  the  beyond  worse  than  the  folly 
of  the  past?  Take  heart,  then,  be  brave  and  wise,  using  well 
thy  materials,  however  poor  they  may  be. 

Which  prefer  you  to  see,  a  symmetrical  and  hand- 
somely carved  statue  of  wood,  or  an  ugly  one  of  ivory?  If 
compelled  to  choose,  which  would  you  be? 

88 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


What  if  all  the  range  of  notes  in  sound  that  we  can 
hear,  from  lowest  bass  to  highest  treble,  should  be  but  one 
note  in  the  whole  of  music, — the  middle  C,  say,  fragmented 
for  man! 

Knowledge  is  often  more  lamentable  than  ignor- 
ance, because  used  wrongly.  Still,  learn  at  any  cost. 

We  sometimes  utter  truths  and  yet  are  not  able 
to  explain  how  we  come  to  say  them,  nor  even  to  argue  out 
our  reasons  for  believing  them.  There  is  no  disputing  with 
the  reasons  of  the  soul,  no  proof  outside  of  themselves. 

The  home  of  the  body  is  stationary;  the  home  of 
the  soul  is  everywhere,  in  all  things,  in  the  realm  of  the  mind 
and  the  realm  of  the  spirit.  But  some  souls  seem  to  have  no 
home! 

This  delight  in  the  mysterious  is  the  vague  endeavor 
to  find  the  purpose  and  soul  which  we  instinctively  feel  to  be 
in  all,  to  which  we  are  related. 

Love  for  one  cannot  be  confined  to  that  particular 
soul;  it  will  overflow  on  our  friends.  This  overflow  is  a  test 
of  love. 

By  analyzing  others  we  become  harsh  and  unchari- 
table: by  analyzing  ourselves  we  become  gentle  and  sym- 
pathetic. 

Hope  must  be  for  something  definite,  else  it  is  not 
hope  but  uneasy  longing. 

To  give  up  one's  rights  is  perhaps  as  often  a  sign 
of  weakness  as  of  strength. 

Both  old  age  and  youth  make  mistakes,  old  age 
from  being  too  conservative,  youth  from  being  too  radical, 
but  if  the  world  is  to  advance  it  is  more  necessary  to  be  radi- 
cal than  conservative. 

There  are  .three  kinds  of  reserve,  natural  reserve  or 
bashfulness,  the  reserve  of  purity,  which  shrinks  from  the 
touch  of  some  persons,  and  the  reserve  of  unworthiness  or 
weakness,  which  wishes  to  appear  better  than  it  is. 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Actions  are  plain,  but  the  motives  being  mixed  or  hidden 
entirely,  we  are  more  apt  to  judge  wrongly  than  rightly. 

And  we  cannot  rightly  divide  between  the  motives 
for  our  own  actions,  yet  pass  judgment  on  others'  actions! 

The  deepest  love  makes  the  greatest  mistakes. 

Just  as  we  may  apprehend  Divinity  but  not  com- 
prehend it,  so  must  we  apprehend  that  others  may  be  right, 
whether  we  can  justify  their  deeds  or  not.  What  is  wrong  to 
one  person  may  be  perfectly  right  to  another. 

If  any  one  thing  more  than  another  proves  the 
nobility  of  man  it  is  that  'tis  easier  to  love  than  to  hate. 

We  might  live  in  perpetual  silence  without  losing 
very  much,  but  no  one  can  live  in  a  perpetual  round  of  words 
without  losing  very,  very  much. 

Insults  are  unconscious  tributes  to  superiority. 

Hope  is  the  fountain  of  life,  renewing  us  daily  from 
the  immortalities  of  perfection. 

Evil  apprehends  good  but  cannot  comprehend  it: 
good  both  apprehends  and  comprehends  evil. 

Earthly  evil  may  be  wholly  evil,  but  no  earthly  good 
is  unalloyed. 

Both  the  fanatic  and  the  true  man  say,  "Pursue 
Truth,  at  any  cost,"  but  the  fanatic  looks  only  at  the  end, 
the  true  man  considers  the  means  also. 

"To  thine  own  self  be  true;"  truly,  the  most  difficult 
thing  in  the  world. 

If  the  head  comprehends,  we  may  still  converse, 
whether  the  heart  comprehend  or  not,  but  when  neither  heart 
nor  head  understand,  conversation  ceases. 

What  we  receive  is  almost  exactly  proportioned  to 
what  we  first  give  or  are  willing  to  give. 

To  truly  learn  from  experience,  the  rules  we  can 
draw  from  one  experience  must  be  applied  to  other  things. 
Few  people  do  this,  and  thus  many  never  learn  from 
experience. 

90 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


To  always  decide  slowly  is  folly:  to  always  decide 
quickly  is  much  worse  folly. 

Foolishly  saved  means  foolishly  spent. 

Silence  and  tears  are  the  only  things  that  can  ex- 
press extreme  joy  as  well  as  extreme  grief. 

Fate  deals  the  cards,  and  fate  may  decree  that  we 
lose;  but  we  may  make  many  mistakes  in  playing  them,  and 
our  mistakes  are  worse  than  anything  done  by  fate. 

Pain  should  be  to  us  not  as  a  hornet  but  as  a  bee: 
both  sting,  but  from  the  bee  we  receive  honey  also. 

Man  may  develop  himself  into  the  greatest  thing 
or  the  smallest  thing  on  earth. 

Does  the  builder  question  the  bricks  as  to  whether 
they  would  rather  be  near  the  bottom  of  the  wall  or  the  top, 
on  the  inside  or  the  outside?  They  all  have  their  places, 
and  each  place  is  important.  Who  knows  how  greatly  he  is 
needed  in  the  world,  or  what  a  crime  it  would  be  to  remove 
himself? 

If  man  trembled  as  much  over  his  sins  as  he  does 
over  the  future,  he  would  have  less  reason  to  dread  anything 
the  future  might  bring. 

Do  nothing  of  which  you  would  be  ashamed  to  have 
the  world  know. 

Men  honor  men  when  they  do  not  honor  God,  but 
they  cannot  honor  God  without  honoring  men. 

Body  wavers,  soul  is  steadfast;  body  needs  change, 
soul  needs  no  change:  body  asks  proof:  soul  needs  no  proof: 
body  doubts,  soul  believes. 

Soul  can  teach  reason,  but  reason  cannot  teach  soul. 
Soul  is  at  once  plaintiff  and  defendant,  lawyer  and  witness, 
judge  and  sheriff. 

The  bad  usually  improve  on  acquaintance;  the  good 
sometimes  lose. 

We  should  instruct  ourselves,  not  others,  or,  at 
least,  ourselves  first,  then  others  through  us. 

91 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Beauty  must  contain  truth,  or  'tis  not  beauty.  As 
well  try  to  find  the  rose's  perfume  independent  of  the  rose  as 
to  expect  beauty  to  be  independent  of  the  truth. 

We  win  our  friends  more  through  their  nobleness 
than  our  own. 

Simplicity  is  one  of  the  most  necessary  and  profound 
studies  of  life. 

Sincerity  always  demands  and  receives  respect,  but 
not  sincerity  nor  frankness  nor  strength  combined  are 
able  to  root  a  fact  in  another  man.  Truth  must  first  be  pres- 
ent to  some  extent,  then  these  aids-de-camp  may  assist. 

Words  are  but  the  body  of  thought,  and  like  our 
earthly  body  cannot  be  fully  controlled;  nor  do  they  exactly 
express  us. 

Thou  art  dissatisfied  because  thy  good  acts  are 
not  admitted  as  such,  not  even  seen?  The  greatest  buildings 
have  the  deepest  foundations ;  many  stones  have  to  be  hidden, 
and  who  can  say  but  your  acts  are  as  necessary,  nay,  more  so, 
than  many  others,  to  some  building  too  large  for  our  eyes  to 
measure? 

Great  men  seek  simplicity  in  thoughts,  in  words, 
in  illustrations,  and  are  greatly  fundamental.  Small  men  seek 
greatness  as  if  it  were  a  fact  in  itself,  and  not  a  great  com- 
bination of  small  things. 

Head-analysis  and  heart-feeling  do  not  make  a  hap- 
pily-married couple. 

Looking  for  flowers  without  thorns  is  the  most  likely 
way  of  finding  thorns  without  flowers. 

It  is  the  duty  of  conscience  not  only  to  make  action 
accord  with  present  belief,  but  to  guide  the  mind  when  it 
contemplates  changing  its  beliefs.  Beliefs  change  because 
the  mind  honestly  seeks  truth,  but  conscience,  properly  speak- 
ing, never  changes. 

Grief  finds  no  rest  in  rest,  but  only  in  action. 


92 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Many  a  person's  most  subtle  thoughts  and  exquisite 
impressions  are  lost  to  himself  and  others  because  no  one 
responds  exactly  to  them,  when  if  they  did  so  respond  other 
and  wiser  shades,  from  still  more  remote  and  delicate  recesses 
of  the  mind,  would  come  firmly  forth,  to  the  surprise  and  joy 
of  both. 

The  most  valuable  silence  is  that  which  is  judiciously 
used  to  punctuate  and  accentuate  speech  with. 

Love  is  the  force  that  unites,  that  harmonizes.  Perfect 
love  means  perfect  union. 

The  individual  is  most  himself  when  he  becomes 
most  universal. 

Only  he  who  is  perfect  need  never  apologize. 

Half  our  ambition  is  caused  by  the  faith  of  others  in  us. 

Those  who  object  to  any  one's  quoting  frequently 
never  say  anything  themselves  worthy  of  being  heard,  much 
less  quoted. 

Paradoxes  are  the  most  simple  and  yet  profound 
expressions  obtainable  of  truth.  This  is  because  they  con- 
tain both  sides  of  truth,  or,  I  might  say,  they  bring  the  poles 
of  truth  together. 

We  may  argue  about  duty,  but  not  against  it. 

It  requires  as  much  wisdom  to  be  wisely  stupid  as  to  be 
simply  wise. 

Some  people  are  so  very  over-conscientious  and  so 
very  obstinate  that  if  they  once  get  the  idea  into  their  head 
that  something  is  wrong,  if  God  himself  should  tell  them  that 
it  is  right  I  verily  believe  they  would  contradict  Him. 

Be  as  wise  and  strong  and  as  nearly  perfect  in  every 
way  as  possible,  or  the  time  will  inevitably  come  when  you 
will  falter  or  perhaps  fail  for  lack  of  what  you  might  have 
had,  or  should  have  been. 

God  himself  never  puts  on  us  more  than  we  can 
bear,  but  he  sometimes  allows  our  fellow  human-beings  to  put 
on  us  things  which  would  be  unbearable  if  He  did  not  uphold 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


us.  But,  O  suffering  heart,  because  He  allows  such  things 
He  will  always  uphold  us. 

He  who  is  sufficient  for  himself  is  the  foolishest 
of  the  foolish  or  the  wisest  of  the  wise. 

Imagination  oftener  causes  misery  than  happiness. 

Let  us  get  what  comfort  we  can  from  the  thought 
that  perhaps  heaven  will  be  inversely  proportioned  to  all  those 
sufferings  of  hell  which  have  strayed  to  earth. 

He  is  the  strongest  of  all  strong  men  who  can 
honestly  smile  at  the  grave  of  buried  hope. 

The  greatest  sins  committed,  both  intentionally  and 
unintentionally,  are  done  in  the  name  of  righteousness. 

The  end  of  our  acts  is  the  end  of  eternity. 

In  objective  affairs  the  pleasure  is  in  the  pursuit 
and  not  in  the  attainment:  in  subjective  affairs  the  pleasure 
is  in  the  attainment,  or  the  success. 

To  say  that  we  know  nothing  is  much  more  untrue 
than  to  affirm  that  we  know  all  things:  the  first  statement  is  a 
complete  falsity,  the  other  contains  a  little  truth,  as  no  sane 
man  is  wholly  devoid  of  knowledge. 

There  is  more  hope  of  the  man  who  has  great  vices 
than  of  him  who  has  no  great  virtues. 

The  only  time  when  failure  means  more  failure  than 
gain  is  when  we  do  not  rise  above  it. 

Books  bring  priceless  knowledge,  but  unless  they 
develop  us  by  throwing  us  more  heavily  back  upon  ourselves, 
we  miss  the  greatest  knowledge  they  can  teach  us. 

Almost  anything,  even  fanaticism,  is  much  more  forgiv- 
able than  flippancy. 

It  should  be  a  pleasure  to  admit,  when  we  see  it, 
that  we  have  made  a  mistake  or  been  at  fault. —  Not  a  pleasure 
in  itself,  of  course,  but  because  proof  to  ourself  and  evidence 
to  others  that  our  strife  for  purity  is  so  sincere  we  will  as 
freely  condemn  ourself,  when  occasion  demands,  as  others. 

Revenge  is  the  bastard  child  of  Justice  and  Hate. 

94 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Men  are  loved  for  nothing  in  particular, —  without 
reason;  they  are  disliked  for  one  or  two  particular  things, 
and  with  reason. 

Reticence  means  lack  of  thoughts  and  stupidity  oftener 
than  depth  or  self-control. 

The  wise  are  oftener  foolish  than  the  foolish  are  wise. 

The  fisherman  who  cares  not  to  lose  or  risk  his  flies, 
catches  nothing. 

More  have  repented  speech  than  silence. 

Knowledge  is  to  some  a  burden  on  the  back,  to  others 
a  carriage. 

The  great  see   resemblances;  the  little  see  differences. 

In  one  of  the  churches  in  Rome  there  is  an  elab- 
orately painted  ceiling  which  seems  without  beauty  or  har- 
mony of  design  unless  viewed  from  one  particular  point;  so 
the  perplexing  mosaic  of  life  cannot  be  interpreted  aright 
save  from  the  standpoint  of  faith, —  faith  in  God  and  the 
hereafter. 

Seeking  pleasure  for  its  own  sake  is  like  drinking 
brine  to  quench  thirst. 

From  one  thing  a  genius  unfolds  the  world.  Most 
men  cannot  discover  one  thing  from  an  entire  world. 

Talent  is  voluntary  concentration;  genius  is  involun- 
tary concentration. 

Only  small  .things  deserve  argument;  great  things 
are  above  it. 

Stagnation  is  the  result  of  not  having  known  life: 
peace  is  the  result  of  having  lived,  of  having  conquered. 

Harmony  with  God  is  the  aim  of  this  world,  the  one 
end  of  all  religions.  Our  discords  arise  from  the  finiteness 
of  our  means. 

The  genius  reads  others  from  a  knowledge  of  him- 
self; the  ordinary  man  reads  himself  by  comparison  with 
others. 

The  chief  business  of  life  is  to  make  distinctions. 

95 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


"I  forgive;**  in  what  way  dost  thou  forgive  when 
thou  art  still  influenced  by  the  past? 

That  friendship  is  very  frail  which  thinks  it  neces- 
sary to  always  give  presents  in  exchange  for  presents  re- 
ceived. 

PASTELS. 

DUTY. 

All  the  men  of  the  city,  with  one  exception,  are  hasten- 
ing out  to  win  or  die  on  the  plain  below  the  city.  The  one 
solitary  man  remaining  bids  them  be  brave,  and  says,  "Ye 
must  do  your  duty." 

A  woman  who  overhears  him  says,  with  a  flash  of  her 
wavering,  uncertain  eyes,  "You  coward,  why  do  you  tell  them 
to  go  but  stay  here  yourself?** 

He  turns  to  her  slowly  and  replies,  very  gently  and  as 
though  he  saw  her  not,  "It  is  their  place  to  kill  and  be  killed, 
it  is  my  place  to  live  and  create." 

And  the  heavy  tread  of  the  departing  men  is  confused 
and  lost  in  the  joyous  song  of  a  little  bird  in  a  cage  just  over 
their  heads. 

A    SAINT. 

She  had  involuntarily  revealed  to  him  her  love,  one  hour 
when  he  was  in  great  danger,  and  now  he  has  had  to  write  the 
decisive  word.  The  letter  lies  before  him,  and  with  the  face 
an  angel  of  God  might  wear  when  on  an  errand  of  mercy 
he  seals  and  directs  it.  He  loves  her,  but  duty  calls,  he 
fancies,  and  marriage  is  not  for  him. 

Is  he  an  angel  of  God? 

She  reads  the  letter,  but  she  does  not  weep  or  moan. 
She  is  very  calm,  too  calm,  I  think,  for  a  human  being  in  such 
agony. 

96 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


Then  she  says:  "He  is  one  of  God's  saints:  may  He  for- 
give him." 

I  pity  her.  Some  of  God's  saints  can  be  forgiven  by  only 
He  Himself. 


IN    THE    SHADOW. 

In  the  dark  shadow  of  a  church  an  old  man  is  leaning 
against  the  ivy-covered  wall  and  watching  the  worshipers  as 
they  leave.  The  light  would  dazzle  him  if  he  were  in  it, 
but  he  is  in  the  shadow,  in  a  very  dark  shadow,  where  these 
worshipers  cannot  see  him  and  so  where  they  cannot  help  him, 
of  course. 

These  worshipers  are  still  gazing  heavenward,  so  that 
they  even  stumble  sometimes  as  they  walk  from  church. 

(God's  love,  God's  strengthening  grace. — The  wind  blows, 
and  it  is  very  cold  tonight.) 

Many  miles  has  this  man  walked  today,  how  many  per- 
haps no  one  will  ever  know.  He  walks  back  and  forth  a  little, 
in  the  shadow,  of  course,  where  no  one  looks.  He  walks 
slowly,  and  his  arms  are  folded,  but  he  does  not  stand  as 
erect  as  a  man  should  when  he  folds  his  arms. 

He  watches  the  worshipers,  and  they  are  beautiful  in  his 
sight.  He  watches  them,  but  not  with  envy  nor  anger,  nor 
any  other  feeling  that  they  would  dislike  to  know;  he  simply 
watches  them. 

(The  love  of  woman,  the  love  of  babes,  the  love  of  lov- 
ing.—  The  snow  falls  thickly  tonight;  it  will  be  deep  by 
morning.) 

The  last  of  the  worshipers  has  passed  from  the  light  of 
the  church  to  the  light  of  the  street,  and  the  sexton  also  has 
left. 

The  man  stops  walking  and  sits  down.  There  is  no 
place  for  him  to  sit  but  in  the  snow,  and  he  sits  in  the  snow. 

97 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


He  drops  his  face  in  his  hands  and  tries  to  recall  some 
words  his  mother  taught  him,  but  it  is  cold,  and  he  is  very 
hungry. 

He  sits  there  a  long  time  and  is  very  quiet.  He  cannot 
think,  but  he  can  still  move,  and  after  several  trials  he  kneels 
down  in  the  snow.  He  feels  strong  now,  and  speaks  out  loud, 
with  a  firm  voice. 

I  hear  his  words  but  I  cannot  write  them.  They  are 
the  words  of  a  curse,  a  curse  against  God,  and  I  shudder. 

God  Himself  may  hear  a  prayer. 

After  this  the  man  is  very  still.  I  cannot  see  that  he 
moves. 

(Music  and  flowers,  peace  and  strength,  man's  love  and 
God's  love. —  In  heaven  dwell  God  and  strength  and  light; 
on  earth  man  and  weakness  and  darkness.) 


THE  TURNING  OF  THE  LEAF. 

The  poet  is  saying  to  himself,  "This  is  perfect." 

He  is  seated  on  a  log  just  at  the  edge  of  a  forest  that 
slopes  up  the  hill  back  of  him.  He  is  gazing  over  the  fair 
valley  below.  A  faint  wind,  warm,  and  fragrant  with  the 
smell  of  burning  leaves,  floats  slowly  past  and  brings  mem- 
ories of  his  early  youth. 

No  man  is  near  him,  no  sign  of  the  imperfections  of  man 
mars  the  affirmative  and  perfect  joy  of  living  that  causes 
him  to  involuntarily  clasp  his  hands  and  murmur,  "This  is 
perfect." 

He  is  quite  content;   he  feels  no  satiety,  and  no  lack. 

He  is  at  peace  with  all  the  earth,  and  with  the  unknown 
things  beyond  the  earth.  He  thinks  that  not  even  the  sum- 
mons of  the  angel  of  death  could  mar  the  tranquility  of  his 
feelings.  Heaven?  Heaven  is  not  so  very  far  away,  surely, 
just  the  turn  of  the  next  leaf  of  this  vast  and  symmetrical 

98 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


cosmos.  Almost  he  feels  that  it  has  been  turned,  so  happy, 
so  contented,  is  he. 

While  he  has  been  thinking,  with  half-shut  eyes,  a  woman 
has  come  up  from  the  valley.  She  stands  some  ways  from 
him,  and  looks  at  him.  Suddenly  he  sees  her,  and  starts  at 
once  to  his  feet. 

The  wind  has  turned  the  leaf  over. 


THE    MEASURE    OF   THE    DRAUGHT    OF    LIFE. 

In  one  of  the  strange  visions  I  had  while  on  that  short 
but  marvelous  journey  among  the  many  realms  of  space,  I 
saw,  in  one  vast  space  separate  and  dreary,  an  Angel  who 
seemed  very  busy.  I  drew  near  him,  and  as  I  did  so  the  tears 
slowly  gathered  in  my  eyes,  but  why  I  could  not  say.  I 
paused  in  front  of  him  and  watched  in  silence  as  he  kept 
steadily  at  work.  I  wished  to  know  what  he  was  doing,  but 
did  not  care  to  speak  lest  my  voice  should  break,  so  strongly 
did  he  or  his  work  affect  me. 

From  a  large  mass  of  gray  material  on  his  right,  and  a 
much  smaller  mass,  of  the  most  dazzling  colors,  on  his  left, 
he  was  taking  small  portions  and  handing  them,  mixed,  to 
attendants,  who  at  once  flew  towards  a  small  planet  far,  far 
off  in  the  blue  ether. 

From  time  to  time  he  seemed  ready  to  sink  beneath  some 
vast  burden,  but  at  such  times  a  Voice  was  heard,  a  Voice 
that  made  rne  tremble  and  caused  the  Angel  to  shudder  and 
resume  his  work. 

At  last,  very  weary  and  very  much  troubled,  I  left  him 
and  followed  one  of  those  Angels  who  were  flying  towards  the 
planet  with  the  burdens  of  the  dark  and  the  light.  Side  by 
side  we  flew,  and  soon  I  was  able  to  speak,  but  at  that  instant 
the  Angel  said  to  me,  "I  will  tell  you  what  you  wish  to  ask. 
The  Angel  you  saw  measuring  is  undergoing  his  punishment 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


for  his  life  on  that  planet  we  are  going  to,  a  life  spent  in  utter 
selfishness.  His  punishment  is  to  mete  out  the  joyous  and  the 
painful  to  the  men  of  the  earth,  and,  as  you  saw,  the  bitter 
things  of  that  life  far  outweigh  the  sweet  things.  Nay,  ask 
me  not  why  the  men  of  that  earth  must  be  so  unhappy;  there 
is  but  One  in  all  the  universe  who  can  answer  you  that. 

"Frequently  the  most  worthy  of  that  people  receive  the 
largest  burdens  of  the  gray,  and  but  little  of  the  beautiful. 
Their  days  are  passed  in  hope  and  misery  mixed,  and  no  man 
can  sit  down  with  joy  and  know  that  he  shall  rise  with 
peace.  When  we  carry  to  some  mortal  more  of  the  beautiful 
than  the  dark,  we  know  that  he  may  be  the  chiefest  sinner 
among  them,  and  are  sadder  than  when  carrying  burdens  to 
the  pure  and  the  meek. 

"My  own  punishment,  also,  is  this  of  continually  being  the 
messenger  of  trouble  and  death  always,  and  sometimes  pleas- 
ure, though  there  is  a  worse  fate  than  mine:  there  are  some 
—  but  these  are  very  strong  and  very  wicked  —  who  carry 
the  gift  of  life." 

And  as  the  Angel  swept  onward  alone,  I  said  to  my  tears 
as  they  fell,  "Life,  and  sorrow,  and  death:  yea,  fall  fast, 
O  tears,  fall  fast,  if  ye  would  keep  pace  with  the  way  of  the 
world." 

IN    THE    NIGHT. 
Buddhistic. 

Richly  carved  is  the  bedstead,  heavy  and  finely  wrought 
the  hangings  surrounding  it,  while  the  other  things  seem  well 
adapted  to  make  any  one  happy  who  is  so  favored  of  the 
gods  as  to  be  laid  thereon.  Yet  this  woman,  who  can  be  dimly 
seen  through  the  canopy,  must  be  a  strange  creature.  She  is 
asleep,  and  one  should  be  at  peace,  we  think,  when  asleep, 
if  at  no  other  time.  But  see  the  muscles  of  her  face,  do 
they  not  twitch  with  pain,  or  at  least  unrest?  And  does  not 

100 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


her  entire  body  seem  to  slowly  move  from  side  to  side  on 
that  luxurious  bed?  Truly  she  is  in  pain,  because  now  the 
tears  are  coming,  slowly  forced  out  from  under  the  eyelids. 
Steadily  they  flow,  at  first  dropping  one  by  one  from  the 
cheek,  at  last  running  down  the  cheek  to  the  pure,  white 
neck. 

Can  she  not  weep  enough  in  the  daytime,  without  marring 
the  holy  calm  of  the  night?  But  hush! — maybe  it  is  never  day- 
time with  her;  there  have  been  such,  from  the  time  when 
God  and  Satan  both  said,  "It  is  very  good." 

Silently,  steadily,  still  they  flow.  But  ah,  relief  is  surely 
near;  an  Angel  has  been  sent  on  an  errand  of  mercy,  and 
leans  tenderly  over  the  poor  human.  He  will  whisper  to  her 
words  of  comfort  and  strength,  words,  I  think,  of  mysterious 
origin,  since  that  wretched  earth  could  never  supply  them, 
probably  they  are  from  Heaven. 

God  have  mercy,  what  a  shriek  that  was!  From  her, 
HER,  did  it  come,  that  long  horrible  wail?  May  the  great 
Love  surround  her!  Was  she  deaf,  then,  or  did  the  Angel's 
words  but  wring  her  heart  the  more? 

The  Angel  has  gone;  perhaps  he  can  be  of  service  in 
Heaven,  since  there  is  no  place  for  him  on  earth. 

Let  us  go.  She  could  neither  see  the  Angel,  nor  hear  him, 
and  we  cannot  help  her.  She  must  sleep  on  as  best  she  can, 
alone,  and  blind,  and  deaf,  cursed  with  the  life  of  that  planet. 

Let  us  return  to  our  own  sphere,  and  be  glad  that  what 
those  beings  call  joy  and  pain  can  never  invade  our  Nirvana. 

THE    OUTCAST. 

Poor,  pitiable  creature!  In  rags,  with  bowed  head  and 
shame-faced  walk,  she  stops  me  on  the  street  and  says, 
"Come  with  me." 

Passersby,  for  though  it  is  nearly  midnight  the  city  is  still 
alive,  eye  us  curiously  and  smile.  I  cannot  yield  to  her 

101 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


request,  but  I  want  to  help  her,  to  think  of  some  plan  by 
which  she  can  earn  an  honest  living.  Ignorant,  doubtless, 
and  unskilled,  what  can  she  do?  I  look  closely  for  signs  of 
potential  power  and  beauty  of  soul,  but  she  is  far  from  her 
childhood's  grace,  and  her  will  has  been  weakened.  I  must 
pass  on. 

As  I  move  away,  she  stands  still,  and  looks  at  me.  Her 
eyes  do  not  blaze,  she  is  not  angry,  but  there  is  something 
in  them  that  detains  me. 

She  is  my  sister,  if  I  am  a  man,  she  is  a  child  born  in 
His  likeness,  and  can  I  leave  her  alone  in  her  sin,  ignorant 
and  blind?  If  I  have  wisdom  and  light  will  they  remain  if 
unused?  Am  I  better  than  she  if  I  pass  by  on  the  other  side? 
I,  born  in  purity  and  bred  like  a  human  being,  have  still 
cursed  God  in  the  insanity  of  grief;  I,  strong,  and  having  had 
converse  with  God,  have  still  known  the  time  when  daily  for 
years  I  heve  prayed  for  death,  and  all  but  laid  down  the  bur- 
den of  life.  She,  a  woman,  weak  and  alone,  what  know  I  of 
her  birth  and  life?  Dare  I  condemn  her?  Am  I  God? 

She  lays  a  hand  on  my  arm  and  whispers,  "Help  me: 
I  am  starving." 

I  take  her  hand  in  mine  and  say,  "My  unknown  sister, 
come  with  me.  My  need  would  be  as  great  as  yours  if  I  did 
not  help  you.  Come." 

She  looks  doubtful  at  first,  but  finally  gives  me  her  arm 
and  walks  by  my  side. 

There  is  a  woman  I  know  who  can  give  her  bread,  and 
bread.  To  her  we  will  go,  and  perhaps  in  the  years  to  come 
this  poor  animal  will  learn  a  human  being's  capacity  for 
communion  with  God,  her  Father  and  Mother. 

LOST. 

The  room  is  darkened,  and  the  hush  of  a  Mighty  Spirit, 
the  Spirit  of  the  Future,  envelopes  the  room,  seeming  to  rise 
from  the  silent  form  on  the  bed,  the  form  of  a  woman. 

102 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


In  one  corner  and  facing  the  bed  sits  a  man,  motionless, 
save  for  a  barely  perceptible  swaying  movement  of  the  body, 
a  man  with  dreamy  eyes  and  a  voluptuous  chin.  He  seems  in 
thought,  and  stares  with  large,  steady  eyes  at  the  Spirit  of  the 
Future,  which  takes  the  shape,  in  his  mind,  of  a  black  moon 
floating  in  space. 

The  door  opens,  and  some  one,  a  man,  enters.  He  enters 
slowly,  as  though  in  doubt,  but  as  he  sees  the  man  in  the 
chair  looking  steadily  at  Something  and  making  no  motion, 
he  advances  rapidly  and  touches  him  on  the  shoulder.  His  act 
does  not  seem  to  be  noticed. 

The  guardian  of  the  law  waits  and  speaks  one  word; 
he  says,  "Come."  There  is  no  reply,  and  again  he  touches 
the  man,  placing  himself,  as  he  does  so,  between  him  and  the 
bed  on  which  lies  the  form  of  the  woman.  The  man  in  the 
chair  slowly  looks  up,  and  acts  as  if  he  had  lost  something. 
He  feels  himself  grasped  roughly  by  the  hand,  and  led  toward 
the  door.  At  the  door  his  hands  are  placed  against  each  other, 
in  front  of  him,  and  bound  together.  He  does  not  resist,  he 
does  not  speak;  perhaps  he  does  not  think.  He  is  led  away. 

And  why  is  he  led  away? 

Out  of  love  for  a  woman  two  men  met  under  the  oaks 
at  the  rising  of  the  sun,  and  the  door  of  the  soul  of  one  of 
them  had  in  a  flash  been  opened,  and  the  other  had  smiled  for 
joy.  But  his  joy  changed  when  he  told  the  woman,  for  she 
looked  at  him,  and  then  fell  to  the  ground. 

Now  they  are  together,  and  he  is  alone. 


"IF  YOU  LOVE  ME,  LEAN  HARD." 

They  two  had  been  walking  in  a  valley  all  the  day,  one 
sometimes  in  front  of  the  other,  again  side  by  side;  they 
had  laughed  much,  and  had  paid  little  attention  to  the  uses 
of  the  various  articles  they  noticed,  but  spoke  of  their  great 

103 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


variety  and  curious  appearance.  The  path  had  been  level, 
winding  in  and  out  among  fields  and  woods  and  along  gently- 
flowing  streams,  and  their  most  serious  occupation  had  been 
twining  strings  of  flowers  to  swing  between  them.  When  they 
pulled  too  hard  and  broke  the  string  they  wept  and  tried  to 
blame  each  other,  but  they  always  made  another  string  and 
said,  "This  one  will  last  longer." 

As  night  closed  in  the  path  slowly  wound  upward  among 
the  hills.  The  streams  of  water  grew  shallower,  and  the  oaks, 
with  their  lines  of  beauty,  were  exchanged  for  an  occasional 
stiff  and  thin-branching  pine.  The  flowers  also  were  not 
so  easily  made  into  chains  and  soon  they  reluctantly  cast 
aside  their  last  connecting  flower-link,  which  they  had  held 
till  it  almost  dropped  to  pieces  in  their  hands. 

Rapidly  the  path  ascended.  Below,  the  valley  could  easily 
be  seen  in  all  its  wealth  of  woods  and  brooks  and  even 
flowers,  and  it  seemed  at  each  step  that  the  remembrance  of 
their  first  careless  hours  grew  more  sweet.  Above,  a  cold, 
tenebrous  fog  obscured  all,  and  they  alternately  laughed  and 
shivered  in  the  darkness. 

They  pressed  onward.  Indeed,  they  could  not  stop, 
much  less  turn  backward  and  live  again  in  the  sunny  valley. 
They  drew  near  each  other  and  the  hand  of  each  sought  the 
hand  of  the  other.  The  path  grew  steeper,  and  very  rough, 
and  very  dangerous.  Not  so  many  words  were  spoken  now, 
for  strength  was  much  needed,  but  the  words  they  spoke  were 
thoughtful  and  sincere.  Each  had  to  look  well  where  he 
stepped,  but  they  would  sometimes  stumble  and  cry  out  in 
pain,  and  the  pain,  once  felt,  stayed  ever. 

Then  each  grasped  the  other's  hand  closer  and  said, 
"Will  you  not  lean  on  me  a  little?"  But  although  each  said 
it  earnestly  neither  one  would  burden  the  other  with  his 
thoughts,  and  for  a  time  they  endured  silently. 

When  the  moon  came  up  they  were  almost  sorry,  for 
although  they  could  see  each  other  more  clearly  the  emicant 

104 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


rays  served  mainly  to  reveal  the  pain  they  could  but  show  in 
their  faces.  At  last,  by  degrees,  they  talked  over  their  trials, 
and  as  love  saw  that  in  dismissing  sympathy  from  self  and 
trying  to  save  the  beloved  sorrow,  they  lost  sympathy  and 
gained  but  little,  and  because  love  will  not  be  satisfied  to  bur- 
den others  yet  share  no  burdens,  each  cried  as  with  one 
mind,  "Lean  more  heavily  on  me." 

And  they  were  surprised  to  find  that  as  each  one  shared 
the  other's  troubles  his  own  troubles  grew  less  weighty. 
As  this  dawned  on  them  they  tried  to  reason  it  out  but  could 
not  do  so.  When  they  fully  realized  this  most  wonderful 
paradox  of  love,  the  cry  of  each  came  from  the  heart,  "If 
you  love  me,  lean  hard." 

And  then  and  not  till  then  they  regained  all  the  beauty 
of  the  happy  valley-hours,  with  added  sweetness  and  depth. 


SERAPHAEL  AND  SERAPHITA. 

Drawn  together  by  the  principle  of  mutual  affinity, 
Seraphael  and  Seraphita  thought  but  of  each  other  and  with- 
drew themselves  from  among  the  other  angels  in  Heaven. 

With  greater  lavishness  than  this  world  can  conceive 
had  God  endowed  them  with  spiritual  graces,  and  in  silent 
and  perfect  adoration  each  had  acknowledged  his  debt  and 
his  happiness  until  they  met  each  other.  Even  then,  by  their 
almost  infinite  strength  and  wisdom  they  had  refrained  from 
all  selfishness,  and  without  consciousness  of  refraining,  for 
what  would  be,  if  measured  by  the  measure  bound  in  the 
mind  of  man,  thousands  upon  thousands  of  cycles,  and  for 
many  more  cycles,  innumerable  cycles,  they  had  fought 
selfishness. 

There  came  a  time  when  they  conquered  the  shadow  of 
evil  which  hung  over  them,  and  then  rang  intensely  through 
all  Heaven's  souls  the  reverberations  of  renewed  love  for  the 
great  Source  of  Love. 

105 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


At  this  time  Seraphael  and  Seraphita  might  have  been 
relieved  from  all  danger  of  again  committing  the  same  error, 
but  they  did  not  choose  to  accept  such  freedom.  They  were 
stronger  now,  they  were  wiser  now,  they  were  purer  than  they 
had  been. 

But  once  more  the  self  in  each  sought  the  other  too 
strongly,  once  more  the  joy  they  derived  from  each  other 
blinded  them  to  the  presence  of  the  Supreme  Source  of 
Joy.  They  forgot  that  the  light  they  so  adored  in  each  other 
was  bestowed  on  them  by  the  Essence  of  Light,  when  He 
called  them  forth  from  the  Infinite  and  gave  them  names, 
and  lo!  they  were! 

Surrounded  by  the  Light  Himself,  they  were  yet  in 
darkness  unless  near  each  other. 

Then  God  spake. 

When  they  heard  His  voice  they  were  afraid.  They 
turned  themselves  to  listen. 

God  spake,  and  they  heard  His  words. 

"Because  you  have  forgotten  God  while  in  Heaven,  you 
shall  struggle  to  remember  Him  while  in  a  new  place, —  strug- 
gle endlessly,  and  well-nigh  in  vain. 

"Because  the  Light  of  the  Absolute  was  no  light  to  you, 
you  shall  seek  the  Light  with  many  tears,  troubled  and 
doubting,  and  never  agreeing  between  yourselves  as  to  what 
is  light  and  what  is  darkness. 

"Because  you  refused  the  perfection  I  gave  you,  you  shall 
be  tormented  by  the  imperfections  I  now  give  you. 

"For  wrapped  in  swaddling-bands  you  shall  be,  the  dark 
bands  of  bodies  of  earth,  narrow,  and  vile,  and  in  every  way 
unfit.  Through  these  you  shall  re-learn  the  laws  of  Heaven, 
through  these  you  shall  procreate  your  kind,  and  the  suffer- 
ings borne  by  your  children  shall  be  borne  again  by  you  be- 
fore you  can  regain  Heaven. 

"You  have  desired  each  other  more  than  you  have  desired 
me:  take  each  other  as  fully  as  you  can,  and  bless  or  curse 
yourselves  as  you  will. 

106 


or  THE 
UNIVERS/T 


A    VOICE    FROM    T  H  E~l L  E N  C  E 


"Go!  I  create  a  sphere  for  you,  the  Earth.  If  you  seek 
me  early,  you  shall  find  me.  I  will  not  leave  you  wholly,  be- 
cause I  cannot  be  unjust,  but  if  you  seek  me,  seek  me  through 
each  other.  Only  thus,  by  unselfishness,  shall  your  crime  of 
loving  the  part  and  not  the  Whole,  be  blotted  out." 

In  this  manner  sinned  the  two  Angels,  Seraphael  and 
Seraphita,  whom  we  call  Adam  and  Eve. 

THE   DANCE. 

The  musician  is  playing  on  his  violin,  and  all  who  are 
within  reach  of  the  music  are  dancing. 

Out  of  their  extreme  joy  they  stumble  against  the  musi- 
cian, and  knock  him  down,  and  the  music  stops.  While  he 
is  regaining  his  feet  they  jeer  at  him,  and  some  curse  him  for 
his  weakness.  He  does  not  reply.  Again  he  plays  and  again 
they  dance. 

He  plays  more  ravishingly  than  before,  because  he  is 
wounded,  and  because  he  cannot  help  doing  his  best. 

He  does  not  dance  himself,  and  when  some  one  calls 
attention  to  it  they  all  demand  of  him  the  reason.  He  gives 
them  no  reply,  and  they  whisper  among  themselves. 

Although  his  eyes  are  shut  he  knows  that  they  and  he  are 
drifting  apart.  But  he  holds  his  violin  closer  to  him  and  plays 
with  a  wondrously  calm  strength:  the  tears  fall,  it  is  true, 
but  only  the  strong  can  weep. 

His  tears  are  not  wiped  away:  he  is  too  busy,  and  the 
others  are  dancing. 

Suddenly,  in  the  very  height  of  a  passionate  outburst  of 
melody,  such  as  makes  even  the  dancers  themselves  almost 
too  happy  to  move,  there  falls  silence.  One  of  the  dancers 
shouts  roughly  to  the  musician,  and,  as  a  most  excellent  jest, 
pinches  the  eyelids  of  the  prostrate  man  and  raises  them. 
Horror-stricken  he  turns  to  his  fellows  and  tries  to  speak, 
but  no  words  issue  from  his  lips. 

107 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  crowd  gather  around,  and  are  silent.  Some  of  them 
are  soon  ashamed  to  be  so  quiet,  and  turn  away  to  dance  as 
well  as  they  can.  The  others,  as  with  one  consent,  gently 
raise  the  body  and  bear  it  to  a  quiet  place. 

They  move  slowly  and  reverently,  because  he  is  dead, 
and  they  are  for  a  few  moments  even  a  little  less  rough  than 
usual  with  one  another. 

Then  they  buy  a  stone,  not  a  very  costly  one,  but  at  least 
of  more  value  than  aught  owned  by  the  musician  before,  and 
they  carve  on  it  holy  words,  words  of  life,  such  as  never 
came  to  his  ears  while  alive. 

Then  they  sit  down  and  weep,  because  they  would  dance 
and  there  is  no  music. 


THE    HOUSE    OF    ANNIHILATION. 

White  shapes  hover  pityingly  around  this  man  and  moan 
with  ruth  for  him.  He  lies  face  downward  on  a  vermeil  cloud 
kindly  stretched  between  him  and  the  waters  by  the  minister- 
ing shapes,  a  cloud  woven  of  peace  and  strength. 

The  black  rays  of  light  from  above  are  let  from  descend- 
ing on  him,  and  the  yawning,  turgid  whirlpool  of  death  be- 
neath, which  cries  horribly  for  him  also  is  thwarted:  angels 
gather  in  their  bosoms  the  rays  and  mantle  him  in  a  vacuum 
against  the  cries.  Yet  maugre  all  their  care  the  soul  shivers 
and  shrinks.  A  vision,  too  large  and  too  black  for  them  to 
relieve,  a  tangible  vision  within  himself,  is  the  cause.  Alone 
he  thinks  himself,  but  if  he  were  —  if  he  were  that  vision 
would  draw  around  him  with  the  irresistible  sweep  of  death. 
The  vision  affects  the  heavenly  angels,  though  they  do  not 
see  it.  They  are  fresh  from  God,  but  the  seer  is  mortal. 

It  is  a  vision  of  life  without  love. 

Motionless,  the  soul  is  swallowed  up  by  the  darkness 
of  life,  enveloped,  powerless,  bound  by  a  veil  wrought  on  the 

108 


A    VOICE    FROM     THE    SILENCE 


loom  of  outer  blackness.  No  words  destroy  his  sight  of  the 
vision,  no  thoughts  sail  between  him  and  that  open  grave: 
silence  speaks  despair. 

The  angels  grow  weak  from  long  vigils  and  call  to  God, 
near  eternity's  term,  for  strength  or  wisdom.  Their  leader 
listens,  then  breathes,  "It  is  enough."  He  directs  their  flight 
and  they  slowly  bear  the  heavy  burden  of  that  soul  to  a  house 
builded  by  God  between  heaven  and  hell,  a  house  founded  on 
love  and  composed  of  infinite  mercy.  They  bear  him  thither 
gently,  and  then  sing  duans  of  joy  to  God  for  having  provided 
the  House  of  Annihilation. 

THROUGH    MEN. 

A  woman  is  in  much  pain  of  spirit.  Affliction  the  hardest 
has  visited  her,  and  her  heart  is  cold  and  hard.  She  is  too 
indifferent  to  man  to  hate  him,  but  against  God  her  hate 
revels  in  curses;  He  has  laughed  at  her.  He  has  tempted 
her,  He  has  robbed  her  of  joy,  even  the  joy  of  hope. 

After  a  time  she  slowly  and  steadily  takes  a  bottle  in  her 
hand.  Nothing  in  the  Beyond  can  be  worse,  and  her  death 
will  be  an  excellent  revenge,  an  excellent  joke,  against  Him 
who  wants  her  to  live. 

A  man  who  does  not  know  her  —  does  not  even  know  her 
name,  but  who  saw  her  face  yesterday,  is  praying  for  her. 
His  sympathy  is  so  deep  it  reaches  the  fountain  of  tears 
and  they  fall  —  not  to  the  ground  but  —  into  my  brother's 
hand,  my  angel-brother,  who  changes  them  by  our  Heavenly 
alchemy  into  thoughts  of  wisdom  and  love  and  peace,  in  which 
form  the  angel  carries  them  to  the  woman.  She  listens,  and  is 
recalled.  She  puts  down  the  bottle,  and  with  a  great  sob 
falls  to  her  knees. 

This  is  no  place  for  me  or  any  other  angel;  I  withdraw. 
The  work  God  gave  me  to  do  has  been  done  and  done  by  a 
human  in  a  better  way. 

109 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE   PASSING   OF   A   MAN'S    SOUL. 

A  man  sat  by  a  darkened  window,  intent  on  his  work, 
which  must  be  done  or  the  body  would  perish. 

"Father,"  came  a  child's  voice  from  an  inner  room, 
"father  will  you  not  take  me  out  to  see  the  procession  now?" 

The  man,  who  sat  by  the  window  but  never  looked  out, 
kept  his  eyes  down  on  his  work  and  replied,  "Time  enough, 
child,  time  enough." 

Outside,  moment  after  moment  and  hour  after  hour  the 
eternal  procession  of  glorious  but  idle  angels  sped  on.  The 
man  could  not  see  them.  He  heard  a  confused  murmur  of 
voices,  and  felt  irritated  at  them  and  at  his  work,  but  did  not 
feel  the  need  of  an  interpreter. 

"Father,"  came  the  delicate  voice  again,  "father,  it  is 
very  dark  here,  and  I  hear  voices  calling  me,  calling  me;  will 
you  not  open  the  door?  " 

"Time  enough,  child,  time  enough,"  and  the  man's  work 
went  on. 

There  was  silence  for  a  long  time.  After  a  while  a 
faint  sigh  was  heard.  The  man  bent  his  head  to  listen  and 
opened  his  lips  to  say,  "Time  enough,  child,"  but  this  time 
no  words  came  to  his  ears.  He  went  on  with  his  work. 

He  thought  he  was  relieved,  (his  work  went  steadily  on,) 
and  after  awhile  forgot  that  he  had  ever  heard  a  sound  from 
the  inner  room. 

The  eternal  procession  of  glorious  but  idle  angels  sped 
on  and  in  Heaven  the  watchers  whispered  one  to  another, 
"It  was  but  six  months  old,  when  it  should  have  been  nine; 
will  it  live?" 


110 


A    FOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


THE  UNBUILT  TEMPLE. 

An  angel  appears  to  a  young  man  in  his  sleep: — 

"If  thou  treadest  watchfully  the  path  of  thy  life,  young 
man,  in  the  days  to  come  it  shall  be  thy  privilege  to  build  a 
mighty  temple,  and  this  temple  shall  be  called  great  and 
wonderful  by  all  thy  fellows,  so  exceeding  mighty  shall  it  be. 
See  thou  value  rightly  the  great  things  and  the  small  things 
of  earth,  and  build  thy  temple  so  grandly  that  even  thine 
enemies  shall  have  to  say,  'He  is  great!'" 

The  angel  vanishes  and  the  man  awakes  and  muses. 

"This  thing  is  from  above!  I  will  dwell  carefully  upon  it, 
and  read  well  the  words  of  the  wise  one.  Let  me  be  very 
strong  and  very  patient.  Shall  I,  born  to  do  some  great  deed 
or  utter  some  divine  law,  presume  to  run  the  risk  of  missing 
my  duty  because  occupied  with  trifles?  I  will  not  waste 
myself  on  trifles  and  dissipate  my  strength  before  this  great 
thing  faces  me,  but  I  will  sit  down  and  wait  for  it,  and  when 
it  comes  it  shall  find  me  fully  prepared.  This  is  surely  the 
wisest  way,  to  be  always  ready  for  the  performance  of  my 
great  duty." 

The  years  pass  slowly,  and  the  young  man  sits  and 
watches  very  keenly  for  a  sign.  But  the  years  pass  and  the 
sign  comes  not.  The  years  pass  and  bring  the  hour  of 
death,  when  the  angel  appears  again. 

"Accursed  art  thou,  in  that  thou  hast  not  performed  that 
wonderful  deed  I  foretold  thee  it  should  be  thy  privilege  to 
do." 

With  sorrow  and  with  anger  the  old  man  raises  his 
head. 

"Is  it  my  sin  that  I  could  not  do  what  was  not  to  be 
done?  I  watched  and  waited  and  prayed,  and  crushed  life's 
pleasures,  and  sat  very  still,  but  there  was  no  great  deed  for 
me  to  do,  no  wise  word  for  me  to  speak.  Is  it  my  sin?" 


Ill 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


The  face  of  the  angel  grows  dark,  and  his  voice  becomes 
like  unto  the  undertone  of  the  sea. 

"Yea,  it  is  thy  sin. 

"The  great  deed  thou  didst  miss  would  have  been  made 
up  of  the  little  things  that  thou  didst  choose  to  pass  by. 

"What  more  shall  I  say? 

"Thou  hast  sinned,  yea,  thou  hast  sinned,  because  thou 
didst  not  see  the  greatness  of  trifles,  nor  remember  that 
what  thou  didst  call  'little  things'  might  be  built  by  thee  into 
a  noble  temple." 

The  old  man  bows  his  head  and  is  silent,  because  the 
years  come  and  the  years  pass  and  not  for  small  things  nor 
for  great  things  may  the  years  turn  backward. 


THE  WORSHIPERS. 

Now  it  came  to  pass  in  the  still  night  watches,  when  my 
body  was  asleep,  that  my  soul  dreamed  a  dream. 

And  in  my  dream  I  heard  a  voice  say,  "Unstop  his  ears 
that  he  may  hear." 

And  I  became  aware  of  the  presence  of  an  Angel,  and  he 
touched  mine  ears,  saying,  "When  thou  hearest  a  sound,  a 
great  sound,  as  of  many  mighty  waters  rushing  headlong, 
listen  and  fear  nothing." 

Then  verily  did  burst  on  my  hearing  a  mighty  noise,  a 
most  discordant  frush,  and  I  stretched  out  my  hand  to  the 
Angel,  who  said,  "Fear  not!  Now  tell  me  what  thou  hearest." 

After  pondering  a  long  time  I  turned  me  to  the  Angel  and 
said,  "This  discordant  sound  is  that  of  many  and  diverse  peti- 
tions, of  which  some  are  directed  to  the  Eternal  but  more 
to  the  Spirit  of  Evil.  I  further  perceive  that  well  nigh  each 
and  every  voice  thinks  its  own  tone  the  right  and  the  only  right 
tone,  and  some  few  voices  there  be  which  desire  all  the  others 
destroyed.  Yet  I  hear  faintly  a  few  that  are  as  pure  and 

112 


A    VOICE    FROM    THE    SILENCE 


sweet  as  the  voices  of  the  morning  stars  when  they  sing 
together." 

And  the  Angel  said,  "These  are  all  the  voices  of  the 
religions,  the  sects,  the  churches,  and  the  individual  hearts, 
upon  your  planet.  They  are  many  in  number.  They  are 
wondrously  many  in  number.  Yet,  the  understanding  of  your 
little  heart  is  darkened :  none  of  these  petitions  are  directed  to 
the  Spirit  of  Evil,  though  only  God  and  we  know  the  heart 
of  man,  and  the  love  of  only  God  is  great  enough  to  forgive 
your  many  strange  desires.  Those  few  and  sweet  voices  — 
ah!  those  few  sweet  voices  redeem  —  redeem  the  world!" 

As  I  listened  again  to  the  strange  murmur  I  wept,  and 
cried  saying,  "Would  that  these  voices  were  as  one!" 

And  the  Angel  answered  and  said,  "They  will  be  when 
in  that  state  you  call  'Heaven.' " 

Then  did  my  soul  face  eagerly  the  face  of  the  Angel  and 
say  to  him,  "They  will  verily  attain  Heaven,  then  —  all  these 
many  jangling  voices?" 

Bending  on  me  a  wondering  look  he  answered,  "They 
will.  All  who  strive  for  Right  and  Light  shall  be  happy. 
Worship  they  not  all  as  truly  and  deeply  as  they  know? 
Strive  they  not  all  to  love  —  to  be  unselfish,  though  some 
half-heartedly?  From  the  north  and  the  south,  from  the 
east  and  the  west  shall  they  be  gathered,  and  there  shall 
carilloux  harmonies  ascend  to  the  Eternal,  as  from  one  sweet 
and  glorified  tongue." 

And  as  I  listened  again  I  sighed  and  said,  "God  is  very 
patient." 

"God  is  very  patient.  He  is  Love,  and  His  ways  are  past 
finding  out,"  murmured  the  Angel. 

Again  he  touched  mine  ears  saying,  "Have  you  learned? 
Go,  return  to  earth,  and  live  in  the  spirit  of  Love.  Love,  and 
judge  not.  Love,  and  be  very  charitable,  for  you  yourself 
jar  on  Heaven's  peace." 

And  I  awoke,  and  beheld  the  impartial  sun. 

113 


(Boob  n(00f !  3  cfofie  f  0e  6008,  mg  f asft  af  enb, 

£0e  fitffe  aff  ifai  frienbfi^ty'fi  fai^  mag  bo : 
$^g  (Soice  3<*e  c^often  from  fyt  Bifence,  f rienb  .  .  . 
Qtob  not»  3  pausing  t»onbet  .  .  .  "if  ^e  ftnet» ! " 

not.    (Kesf  fiff  f 0e  (J»otmn0  £15^ 
summon  .  .  .  sofffy  ...  BO  ...  (Boob  ati00* 

(Boob  (Jt(0^ ! 

-Jna 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


JUN6  '63ft 

RE      D  LD 

II  IN  °  ^  IQK^ 

vJUlM   w  0    UUJ 

General  Library 

keley 

•••••• 


IB 


